The Wrong Brother
by Seerwood
Summary: Carol finds herself volunteered to go on a supply run with Daryl and Rick, only problem is-Merle's coming too. What could go wrong? Set originally at Season 3:11 (I ain't a Judas), and now currently at S4. Rated M for language and adult situations. Slow burn Marol.
1. Chapter 1

****Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead, or ****the Dixon brothers,**** sadly.****_(If I did, Andrea would have killed the Governor in his sleep _****_and _****_Merle would never have died)._****

_a/n: __T__his story is set at __S__eason 3:11 (I ain't a __Judas__). I have taken the liberty to __moderately __increase the time frame, to allow Team Grimes a __few more days__ to recoup before the meeting with the __G__overnor at the barn, while trying to keep __the main plot as near to canon as I possibly can._

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**The Wrong Brother**

Carol had been greatly surprised to hear that Merle had been allowed to go on a supply run. She had asked to go, on Hershel's whispered insistence-he had wanted her to try to keep an eye on the men, and Rick amazingly had agreed. Carol could only guess that Hershel wanted to try to give the group some sort of reprieve from Merle. The last few days, the atmosphere at the prison had been extremely fraught, tensions were running sky high since the Woodbury incident. Tempers might cool a degree, if Merle was off the scene for a while.

The night before, she had been cooking for the group, lost in thought and not overly paying attention to what was being said, until she had heard Merle pipe up suddenly, "My my my, ain't you a lil cutie, what's your name sweetums?"

Curiosity had gotten the better of her, and she'd peeked around the corner, spying Beth sat on the steps with the baby.

"Her name is Judith," Beth said, cradling the baby on her lap.

"Wasn't talkin' 'bout the babe," Merle smirked, obviously enjoying the way her eyes had widened in surprise. "Ah, Officer Friendly."

Carol had dropped the spoon in her hand with a clatter, rushing across to the young girl just as Rick strode in with Daryl.

"I see the babe has her father's good looks," Merle said laughing, staring at Rick, "Shame I hear he's dead."

"Shut it Merle," Daryl warned, glancing at the former sheriff.

"Meh," Merle said sourly, "See our friendly local neighbourhood officer has your balls tightly rammed in his pocket, baby brother. Say Daryl? When did ya become his bitch?"

"I ain't nobody's bitch," Daryl spat.

"Could'a fooled me."

"Merle? Could I have word?" Carol had interceded then, hurriedly taking a plate of food across to the man in the cell.

And so, it had seemed then, at that moment...an ideal situation for Merle to be away from the group, from the prison, and Carol wondered just how crazy she must have been to actually to agree with Hershel. Although lately her days seemed to consist of laundry, caring for the tiny baby, cooking and seemingly never ending guard tower duty. Maybe being away from the prison would do her some good too. Especially after Axel's and T-Dog's shocking deaths, her time spent in the tombs...she had tried so hard not to think about it, _any of it_, the way that T-Dog had sacrificed himself for her...the way her heart had broken as she had watched her friend fall under the weight of the walkers that had surged at them both... the hateful claustrophobia, the dense darkness, the heavy fetid stench of death...

So when Rick had announced suddenly to all of the group that he was going on a run, (which was a rarity in itself), and that he was taking Merle of all people with him, she had _wanted_ to go, and of course, and if Merle was going, so was Daryl. Hell would have to freeze over if Daryl wasn't going to go anywhere where his brother was included, and not himself. She didn't really care for Merle, she only too well remembered the hot headed redneck at the quarry, remembered that half of the time the man had been high on drugs, was foul mouthed and foul tempered, and not for the first time, she wondered how he and Daryl could possibly be related. She was curious. That was part of the reason why she wanted to tag along, what with Hershel's insistence and of course, the other reason she had wanted to go was obviously Daryl.

Hershel had recently bemoaned the lack of fresh medicines, the small amount that Carl had found, and the amount in his own bag were dwindling rapidly what with injuries sustained by the group, his own recent disability included. And even though they took out most of the walkers with hand weapons-knives, daggers, anything that could be thrust through a rotten pulpy undead head...ammunition for the pistols and rifles were quickly being exhausted.

Merle's insistent scathing warnings of the Governor preparing for a retaliatory attack were naturally being taken very seriously. He _had_ been party to the Governor...inside man and all of that. But even so, Carol couldn't help but wonder what exactly Merle's game was. Could be that it is was only out of sheer concern for his brother, knowing now all to well that Daryl wouldn't abandon their group again-she still didn't know exactly what had happened between them after Daryl had found Merle at Woodbury, but she thought it was more than that. Knowing what she did of him, it had to be. Merle never seemed to do anything unless something was in it for himself.

Sighing, and not really knowing-anticipation, frustration and curiosity boiling within herself, she sat on the bed in her cell, pulling her boots on. Taking a deep breath, she grabbed her worn jacket, slipped it on, stooping to grab her backpack quickly. Her knife was sheathed at her waist, she always wore it. It didn't pay to let your guard down, even for a second. Reaching up to the top bunk of her bed, she grabbed her pistol, slipping it quickly into the waistband of her navy blue pants. Her fingers had grazed across the small paperback laying there next to her gun, and Carol smiled sadly, remembering that Maggie had given her the book some time ago, with a knowing smile and wink, some silly romance novel that Carol never had the time or inclination to really be bothered to read. But not wanting to hurt the younger woman's feelings, she had graciously taken the book.

And now both Glenn and Maggie were hurting, even though Maggie fought so hard to try to hide it from everyone else. Merle had a lot to answer for. Carol felt the smile slide from her face.

Slinging the backpack across one shoulder, she stalked her way through the prison. Impatience to be away gnawed at her, and walking determinedly, she stepped through the heavy prison door and out into the courtyard, eyes squinting against the sudden beams of sunshine that assaulted her senses.

Rick was already there waiting, offering her a small tight smile as she strode across to the Hyundai. Carl waited at the gates, ready to open them to allow them out, and she saw a sickly worried cast to his face. She raised one hand and waved to him, smiling reassuringly as she did so. She thought she saw him briefly smile back, head bobbing up in the sheriffs hat he wore, his one hand lifting up quickly, returning her greeting.

Daryl wasn't there yet and she tried to ignore the way her heart thumped quickly in her chest at the thought of him.

Carol stood with her hand resting on the back door of the car, glancing quickly up at Merle as he stood there leaning lazily against the trunk of the car, watching her through half lidded eyes. He noticed her observing him, and slowly peeked the tip of his tongue out, running it lasciviously across his upper lip. She narrowed her eyes at him in disgust, seeing the way his eyes crinkled humorously, the sardonic smirk painted across his lips, the way he slowly looked her up and down. She felt herself flush, and hated herself for it.

"Hey little brother! Was wonderin' when you was gonna show ya pretty face," Merle grinned as Daryl stomped heavily towards them.

"Merle," Daryl grunted in reply, his eyes swiftly moving from his brother to her. He shifted the crossbow on his back, one hand tugging at the straps. His other hand held his battered backpack loosely. He nodded at her briefly, but his eyes hesitated over hers for a split second longer, and she felt herself smiling at him, nodding back at him in an unspoken greeting.

"Carol here said she's _more_ than happy to share the back seat with me," Merle said. "I dunno how that's gonna ride with Sheriff Rick there...say _Darlina_, ya reckon he gonna cramp my style?"

Carol gaped, "I said no such thing..."

"Shut it Merle," Daryl grimaced, "She ain't gettin' in no back seat with ya."

"Ain't that a shame," Merle sighed, opening the car door and climbing in.

Carol stepped to the front of the car, pausing as Daryl stood next her. His head was facing downwards, his boots scuffing the ground, and glancing up, his eyes smoldered at her through the tangled curtains of his hair, a sudden flash of intense blue, then swiftly removing his crossbow, he climbed into the car beside his brother.

For a second, Carol just hung onto the door, her knees feeling weak, and she felt mildly alarmed at the effect that just that one simple look from Daryl gave her. Although, when it came down to Daryl, nothing was _ever_ really that simple. Raising her eyes to the sky, she breathed a silent shaky sigh, and climbed into the car next to Rick.

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	2. Chapter 2

****Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead. ****Sadly.****

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Carol had her cheek resting against the coolness of the Hyundai's partly opened window, savouring the cool air circulating through the car. No-one had spoken for the last few miles, and that was something she was only too thankful for. She was glad not to hear the steady rumble of Merle's voice from behind her seat. He had been vocal for the first few miles, despite repeated warnings and elbow nudging from Daryl. Eventually he had given up and fallen silent when he finally realised that he didn't have his captive audiences full attention.

Rick pulled the car into a small cul-de-sac, parking at the side of an over grown grass verge. Carol had to stifle the smile as she heard one of the back doors of the car swing open, the clomp of boots hitting tarmac, and she knew only to well that it would have to be Daryl first out of the car. She took a peek, and nodded to herself. He was already tugging the crossbow off his back, his eyes partly concealed by his unruly fringe of hair, but she knew that he was warily watching as Merle clambered out. Clutching her backpack out of the well in the car, she climbed out herself.

"We'll split into pairs," Rick said closing his door, shielding his eyes against the sun as he squinted at the row of small shops that lined the street.

"Do you think that's wise Rick?" Carol glanced hesitantly at Daryl and Merle. She cast her eyes to the road, glancing back to the small square of shops. So far she couldn't see any walkers.

"We ain't splitting up, no way man." Daryl shifted the crossbow in his arms, scuffing at the ground with the toe of his boot.

Rick gestured with one hand towards the buildings, "Look we get in, we get out, it'll be quicker if we split up. I'll take Merle with-"

"Like shit ye will! No offense _Officer Friendly_, but last time you cost me my goddamned fuckin' hand," Merle hissed angrily, brandishing his prosthetic limb.

"I went back for you Merle, _we_ went back for you," Rick said wearily, "How many times do I have to say that it was a mistake? A mistake that we _tried_ to make right? You had _gone_."

"Yeah, yeah..you an' that big ole Spear-Chucker both. An' I bet you can't sleep at night with all them boo-hoo tears you shed. Might even believe it when I see those damn pigs flying."

"We did Merle, and you wasn't there, just ya damned hand. Just quit it bro', it ain't getting us nowhere," Daryl glowered.

Merle looked at Daryl, his eyes narrowing angrily, "Quit being his lil bitch, baby brother."

Carol looked at Rick, feeling a sudden pang for the man as he glanced at her, indecision written in his eyes. He raised one hand, lightly pinching the bridge of his nose. She knew then, that he was worried that Merle might just try to take off with Daryl, leaving them all over again, although when Daryl had shown back at the prison gates, him and Merle _both_ saving Rick from the walkers massing there, that that had pretty much decided Daryl's loyalties. She didn't really know how she knew, but she just had a feeling that Daryl wouldn't be in such a rush to ditch their group. She also realised that Rick was putting a lot of faith in Daryl by bringing him and his wayward brother on this run.

And as much as she hated saying it, and knowing she couldn't stop the words from venturing out of her mouth, she said quietly, "Alright. I'll go with Merle."

Rick glanced at her, blue eyes scrutinizing her closely, then he nodded at her imperceptibly, "Thank you." Unsheathing the knife at his waist, he said to the others, "Now we know what we are here for, ammunition- whatever we can find, food and any medicinal supplies, and we need stuff... for Judith. Formula, diapers, whatever we can find and carry." Giving another small tight smile he said, "Let's go."

Carol took the knife from her belt, grasping it firmly in one hand. She glanced up as Daryl moved towards her. His eyes darted towards where Merle was stood impatiently, sighing under his breath. His hand reached out towards her, and she wondered then if he would actually touch her, but then his hand palmed fresh air as it fell just short of her, returning to the safety of his crossbow. As if he was suddenly embarrassed by his action, he murmured so softly that she hardly heard him. "Stay safe. 'n watch out that jackass brother of mine."

"You too, stay safe Daryl," she replied, giving him a small half smile. She noticed Merle observing them, his brow creasing into angry squiggly lines.

"C'mon ya buncha fuckin' pussies," Merle spat, striding from them. "Darlina?" He stopped briefly, calling over his shoulder. "Go an' hold the good sheriffs hand. I'll take the mouse with me. Reckon she might just have bigger balls than the lot of you put together."

Carol rolled her eyes, silently cursing Hershel. She watched as Rick moved off with Daryl in tow, wishing that she could have traded places with Rick. Merle unsettled her, made her feel anxious. He was unpredictable and a hot head. She had grown to know Daryl over time, could almost anticipate his actions now...Merle from what she had seen and known, confounded her the best of the times.

"You just gonna stand there an' murmur sweet nothin's to my baby brother, or ya gonna move yer feet an' get this done?" Merle hissed quickly at her ear. She gasped a little, standing back and frowning at him. She hadn't even noticed him invading her personal space. While Daryl had many issues-he would still flinch even now if she so much as touched him on the arm, it appeared that Merle didn't have any of those insecurities that affected his younger brother.

He smirked, smoky blue eyes narrowing as he inclined his head towards her, "Saw a drugstore, what ya waiting for, mouse?"

Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, she glanced quickly across to Daryl, watching as he moved stealthily after Rick, crossbow cradled at the ready in his arms.

"Biters!" Merle whooped suddenly. He laughed largely as he thrust upwards with the bayonet on his prosthetic arm, the walker dropping heavily to the floor, dark blood pooling rapidly as it's head thumped to the concrete. He glanced at her, smiling smugly. "An' that's how it's done, sister."

Carol shook her head at him, and stepping to his left hand side, rammed her knife firmly through the eye socket of a young female walker that had focused its attention on him. "As you said Merle, that's how it's done."

"Well my, ain't you quite the surprise?" he chuckled approvingly.

"Mhm," she said glancing over his shoulder, "I see more walkers."

"I see 'em too. Stay close behind me, cover my ass," Merle replied, the grin he gave her slipping of his face as he saw her still stood at his side. His eyes narrowed. "I mean it mouse, stay behind me."

Carol only nodded at him, watching as he strode across the tarmac. She kept close to him, putting down a walker who'd wandered within her range. Merle dropped two more walkers in quick succession, his bayonet streaked with sticky blackened goo. She glanced down at her own knife, flicking the blade suddenly, watching momentarily as blood dripped off her blade, smacking onto the tarmac thickly.

"C'mon," Merle murmured, grabbing her arm and drawing her into the drugstore with him.

The only walkers in the building were long dead, three dusty dirty husks. Shelving hung haphazardly, torn and twisted, the shop floor strewn with beat up bottles, some burst, spewing up their desiccated contents. The air felt thick and cloying with accumulated scents and general disuse.

She watched as Merle shuffled to a stripped down shelf, his hand brushing against a bottle of shampoo, knocking it to the ground. He looked at her slyly then, and Carol felt her breath catch awkwardly in her throat. He had a packet of condoms in his hand and was staring at her brazenly. Silently appraising her.

"You never know mouse. Pays to be prepared," he grinned. "An' ain't I the regular boy scout?"

She felt the heat rise to her face, "Those have an expiration date Merle? I think it's going to be a long while 'til you get laid."

"Was thinkin' you and our Darlina," he said, lips curling downwards into a sneer. "Say, our boy put the wood to you yet?"

"None of your damn business. It isn't like that," she spat.

"Huh, jus' as I thought. Little brother always was slow on the uptake." He turned from her, chuckling before palming the condoms into a pocket.

She swore she could still see his grin despite his back facing her.

Carol sighed as she watched Merle walk determinedly to the prescription isle at the back of the shop. "Fuck," he spat angrily. "Goddamn place been torn apart here too. Ain't much left. The better shit is kept out'a sight, store room. There's gotta be one here..." he chortled triumphantly opening a small back door, peeking his head in.

She found a couple of granola bars and hurriedly stuffed them into her backpack, her hand pausing, then ramming three dented, dusty bottles of water she found there too. Her eyes skimmed the nearly empty shelves, despairing as she saw the majority of the good stuff taken. Gritting her teeth in frustration, she glanced towards the front of the building, a sudden movement out in the bright sunshine catching her eye.

"Merle? Come here," Carol called out, unable to keep the tremor out of her voice as her heart pounded suddenly, almost painfully in her chest. "You should see this."

He stomped his way back towards her, one arm brushing against her as he shoved past. "What the hell?"

Carol caught his black shirt tightly in her fist, yanking him suddenly backwards and up against herself.

"Ain't really the time or place, sweetheart," he drawled lazily, peeking at her over his shoulder.

"Shut up Merle," she hissed behind him. "Look!"

He glanced in her direction, eyes widening as he saw a throng of walkers stumbling across the street. The breath whistled in his chest. "Well shit."

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	3. Chapter 3

****Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.****

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Daryl stood in the ransacked mess that had once been a somewhat respectful hunting supply store. Heavy shutters at the windows had concertinaed outwards, tattered and bloodstained, shards of thick glass littering the inside, but even those frail tattered shutters couldn't dispel the rays of light that filtered unevenly.

A solitary walker, it's feet trapped between torn shelving had turned towards them, the few yellowing stumps of teeth remaining in it's jaw clacking hungrily as it shuffled and tumbled over itself in it's greed, stupidly trying to reach them. Rick stood next to it, his head slightly cocked to one side as if he saw something else there, something that Daryl couldn't see.

He raised his crossbow, hesitating. "Rick," he called softly, frowning when the man paid him no response.

"_Why_ are you here? I _thought_ the prison...you shouldn't be here, no...you're not," Rick whispered suddenly.

Daryl felt the small hairs on his arms prickle, shuddered as an icy chill slipped slowly down his back. Lowering his crossbow, he thrust the straps about himself and grabbed at his knife. A few paces and he was across the floor, shoving the sheriff unceremoniously out of the way as he bent down quickly, thrusting his blade into the walkers dead. It plopped to the floor in a hiss of fetid air, blood oozing thickly across the floor.

Daryl glared at him, wiping the blade on his grimed pants. "What the hell man?" he demanded.

Rick stood with his head bent, before raising one hand slowly and rubbing at his face with one palm. He gazed at Daryl slowly, his blue eyes dull and groggy as if he were slowly awaking from a deep sleep.

"That walker damn near had yer ass. Snap out'a it!"

Daryl angrily felt that he was fighting a losing battle with himself. Fear and impatience rolled heavily in his gut. He was concerned for Rick, for the way that he just simply stood there, an almost slack jawed, eyes glazed expression. The other part was torn, worried about the way that Merle had seemed more than happy to have Carol accompanying him. He'd seen the slight jubilant cast to his brothers face as Merle had briefly smirked at him, and he would have been downright lying if he didn't admit that it ate at him. He'd seen that look before, knew exactly what it meant. Meant his asshole bro' would try and put some sort of move on her, and he wasn't there to stop him. Like it had always been. Merle might be an asshole of the first degree, but he always had been a charismatic asshole.

And of all the stores that Merle _had_ to find, it was just so fuckin' typical that he had latched onto the only drugstore across the street.

Not just that, now he was stuck with crazy town Rick. Whatever the hell was up with the former sheriff he needed to snap the fuck out of it. He'd seen Rick lose it back at the prison. Glenn had said privately that Rick had gone walking crazy town, and Daryl thought that was an apt turn of phrase. But now really was not the time to go all out looney-toons.

Daryl let all the pent up air in his chest out in a long drawn hiss of breath, before tersely prodding a finger in Rick's chest. The man jolted a step under the pressure and Daryl felt his hand curl into a fist. If he had to, he'd knock that shitty vacant gaze off his face.

He was relieved when he saw Rick finally shake his head, heard his sharp intake of breath, the way his hand reached across to rest calmly above the holster at his waist.

"Thought I'd lost ya there for a minute man," Daryl said, noting the way that Rick's eyes had thankfully lost that vacant glaze.

"What happened?" Rick questioned, pausing before saying softly, "I'm sorry."

"No fuckin' clue," he replied, pushing his way past him, trying desperately to forget. Now Rick was back, all compos mentis, Daryl couldn't help but feel somewhat embarrassed by the whole scene. He stood with his back to the man, chewing nervously on a thumbnail, while casting his eyes around the store, listening to the long heavy booted stride as Rick eventually stalked across the store.

"A few cartons of ammo, two rifles. This place must have been hit hard by looters at the start," Rick said abruptly.

"Wasted fuckin' trip," Daryl growled as he searched through boxes, tore through the remaining shelving, throwing baseball camps with cheery logos and overly brightly coloured vests all over the floor. He spied two brass handled pocket knives and a spool of fishing reel, thrusting them into his bag without a second thought. Rick had seemingly fared a little better, two rifles and a shotgun were slung by their belts over his shoulder, and clenched in one hand was a pair of binoculars.

Hearing a sudden sound outside, his skin prickling with a sharp foreboding, he rushed out, the sight turning his feet to lead. He heard Rick's rapid sharp intake of air a few seconds later as he stood next to him.

Daryl felt the breath freeze in his chest, felt it seep through his body and arms and legs, felt the sheer immobilizing panic that shredded it's way through him. His limbs felt locked in place, feet frozen to the tarmac. The sheer amount of walkers-_herd _he corrected himself fearfully, was one of the largest he had seen in a while. He had no idea how many there were, or where they'd come from, but as he watched he saw stragglers at the edges of the street converging with the mass now ambling towards them. Bile rose thick and acrid in his throat and he gulped it back, wincing. Merle and Carol were still in that fuckin' drugstore, and they had no chance to get to them. His hands shook as he tore the crossbow off his back, knowing that a few paltry bolts wouldn't so much as make a dent.

He cast a fearful look at Rick, his eyes dropping to the pistol in the sheriffs hand. Rick wore the same tight fearful expression as he did, but there was a determined shine to his eyes.

"We have to leave Daryl, and we have to leave now," Rick hissed firmly.

"No, I ain't gonna leave them, no fuckin' way. 'S my brother. Carol. We have to help 'em," Daryl heard a slight whine to his voice, unable to stop the fear from reaching it. He flinched suddenly as he felt a hand close over his fore-arm, the grip tight and strong.

"We leave now," Rick repeated, and Daryl felt the stupefied rage surge through his body. He wrenched his arm from his grasp, angrily shaking his head.

"We go, but we _can_ give them a fighting chance to get away. It's all we can do. You have to trust me Daryl."

"I...jus' ain't gonna stand here and do nothin' Rick. Lost 'em both before-an' it ain't happenin' again."

Rick stooped his shoulders, twisting his head to the side, blue eyes riveting firmly on Daryl's. "Remember Atlanta? Glenn and that damned car?"

Daryl thought back to that time when they'd gone back for Merle, finding him gone and he nodded begrudgingly, twisting his gaze from Rick's. He thought he saw his brother stood at a window, thought he saw Carol stood behind him. His gut wrenched sickeningly again. The walkers hadn't seen them, hadn't picked up their scent yet, even though they were now only two car's distance from the drugstore. Even if Merle and Carol _could_ get out, those fuckin' walkers would pick up the pace and be on them in no time. He tried to ignore the image that sprung instantly unbidden, _of his brother, of Carol being torn apart_...he was suddenly aware that Rick was still speaking, his tone hushed and urgent, and with a wrench of willpower he blanked the image from his mind, and focused on the man's words.

"We _have_ the upper hand, we are _nearer_ to the car. We can do this Daryl, but I need you here with me now. Are you with me?"

As he stared down the former sheriff, he thought he'd never hated anyone as much as he did right at that moment_, _but then understanding slipped keenly through his body, thawing his thoughts and freeing his feet.

"Yeah, I gotcha," he muttered darkly through clenched teeth.

Rick nodded at him. "Let's move then. Give them that chance." He slipped across the tarmac, drawing his gun from it's holster. He paused, his eyes narrowed grimly at Daryl before raising his pistol, firing several shots into the heavy throng of walkers. A few fell to the ground, but more pushed ahead.

Daryl raised his gun, following Rick's lead, firing into the crowd. Four more fell to the ground heavily in a tangle of rotting limbs. A few precious seconds later and a few more stragglers seethed across the sidewalk to the join at the front of the herd, nearing the windows of the drugstore. He risked a few paces forward, ignoring Rick, to wave across to Merle. "Stay back!" he shouted, gesturing one hand. He yelled again, seeing with some satisfaction the walkers heads turning towards them. He gestured one last time, calling out _I'll find ya brother_, relief coursing through him as he saw Merle finally acknowledge him, before he dashed down the street hot on Rick's heels, tears stinging his eyes. He'd go back, he'd find them, it wasn't a question, it was a damned fuckin' surety.

Wrenching open the Hyundai's door, Rick threw in his backpack and the guns that had been slung across his shoulders. Daryl glanced back up the street, firing two more shots, before dumping his crossbow and bag in the backseat alongside Rick's.

They sat in the car a few seconds longer than was necessary, the car's engine idling steadily, almost reassuringly, watching as the throng shambled gracelessly throughout the cul-de-sac. Daryl felt his heart thump a sick tattoo in his chest, the sound coarse and deafening in his ears. His knuckles glowed white as he balled his hands tightly into fists at his sides.

Rick still had his hand pressed firmly on the car's horn-echoing a time when Glenn had once done something similar in a small red sports car, alarm blaring ear-achingly loud, drawing walkers from them, allowing them escape. Daryl risked a quick look over his shoulder, seeing more of the damned hateful things lumbering towards them.

The car pulled off agonizingly slowly, horn still blaring, as the walkers changed direction, veering off their intended course and heading straight for them.

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	4. Chapter 4

****Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead. ****

_a/n: I would like to say a big __thank you to everyone that has taken the time out to read __and __review, follow and favourite this little __story!_

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"Daryl," his name hung in the air for a few seconds before Merle rumbled tersely, "has gone taken off with his girlfriend, Officer Prick. Gone an' left us, sweetcheeks. Ain't none gonna save our asses now. Nope. Jus' ole Merle an' lil Mouse."

"They wouldn't leave us..." Carol tried to keep the disbelief from edging into her voice, knowing that she'd failed as she saw anger chase across his brow, the way his eyebrows knitted together as he looked over his shoulder at her. She edged away from him, idly wondering at the fact that the back of his shirt was still bunched tightly in her fist. She shook her hand away from him, taking a few steps backwards, her hands falling and clasping loosely at her sides.

"I ain't lying sister." Merle shrugged, "Be my guest and look yerself. It's jus' you, me and a whole lot'a fuckin' undead ass-holes back there."

She glanced from him to the window, eyes widening in horror as she saw several stumbling rotting faces appear at the furthest edge of the large glass paneled windows. "We need to get away Merle," Her voice trembled with fright.

"And go where?" Merle faced her, raising his arms upwards, "In case you haven't noticed, our options are pretty fuckin' limited," he hissed.

"You said there was a store room. Out back..."

The glass shattered inwards suddenly, the sound crystal sharp and ringingly clear amidst the wretched moaning. A hand clawed itself inwards, ragged over grown fingernails scraping, fingers clutching. Merle spun on his heel, the knife on his prosthetic limb swinging upwards automatically, thrusting under the walkers jaw with a sickening crunch. He grunted with exertion, pulling the blade free before thrusting it at another head.

Carol hesitated a split second, before pulling her own blade free of it's sheath, joining him at the window. She caught a walker, a young man with shaggy filthy matted hair, jabbing him neatly in the throat. Blood shot out and she grimaced in disgust, before stabbing at another.

Merle grabbed her arm abruptly, dragging her back across the drugstore with him. His breath panted out raggedly as his fingers dug into her skin, and she fought back a sob. How could Daryl have just left them? Her heart twisted achingly. Surely he wouldn't just leave unless it was absolutely necessary, unless there was no other option. She thought she knew him, probably more than she knew any other living person.

"Daryl will come back for us," she said, although she didn't know if she was just trying to placate the highly agitated man at her side, or whether she was trying foolishly to convince herself.

"Yeah, maybe," Merle spat, pulling the door open and thrusting her inside. He paused, glancing quickly over his shoulder, before pushing in after her and closing the door with a small firm click.

Carol leaned against the wall, her eyes adjusting to the dim light. She tried desperately not to think of the walkers out there, tried not to think of them surging through the store, their dead hands mindlessly reaching out for them, tried not to think of Daryl and Rick fighting for their lives. Her head felt heavy so she let it slump weakly to her chest, her breath shallow. Tears prickled hotly against her eyelids and she let them slip out, glad of the dimness of the room, glad that he couldn't see them in her moment of weakness.

Trying to control her breathing and the tightness in her chest, she opened her eyes slowly, willing herself to be calm. She sighed, and took a long steadying stare at Merle. He was slumped on the ground opposite her with his legs bent, prosthetic arm resting across his knees. In the faint light she could see the dark smudges under his eyes, the worry lines etched deeply into his brow. His eyes were hooded, cast down at the ground-he reminded her of a penned animal trapped in a small confined cage, the way that his shoulders were hunched stiffly, the muscles in his arms bunched tightly, the faint sheen of sweat covering his forehead and grizzled cheeks.

He raised his head slowly as if he felt her gaze on him, steely eyes boring into hers and holding her look steadfastly. He smirked lazily at her, "Say Mouse, if it's right that our boy _ain't_ put the wood to ye yet...ya can always bump some uglies with me while we're stuck in here. Ya know, pass the time? Jus' saying, I'd let ya git some practice in. I'm charitable like that."

Carol felt herself bristle with indignation. Whatever happened-or _hadn't_ happened with Daryl was of no damned concern of his. "Why are you such an ass Merle?" she asked, then instantly wished she could take the words back. Was no sense in goading him when they were stuck together. She'd been better off just ignoring him.

"Got a bite on ya Mouse, I approve," he chuckled. "Wanna show ole Merle later just how _much_ ya can bite?"

Carol shook her head, ignoring him while listening for sounds from behind the door. She knew that a few walkers must have gotten into the store, she could hear their low moans and slow shifting gait, but by all rights- more than a _few_ walkers should be in there. It seemed unnervingly strange, those the only noises apart from the slight muffled blare of a car horn. She listened more intently, cocking her head slightly to one side.

"What you hear?" Merle asked, sitting up more rigidly, hand flat on the ground next to him.

Carol glanced at him, frowning. "I thought I heard a car horn, but it's gone."

"Could'a just been one of them biters thumpin' on a car." He settled wearily back down at his spot on the floor.

"I don't know. Maybe. I hope Daryl and Rick got away safely."

"Baby brother gotta charmed life," Merle said simply.

She nodded at him, not trusting herself to answer. Tears stung at her eyes again. She sighed heavily and looked back down at him, her eyes narrowing suddenly as she saw a spot of blood dripping down his arm. "You're bleeding. Have you been bitten? Did they scratch you?" She felt a deep chill settle uncomfortably in the pit of her stomach.

Merle glanced at his arm, muttering a curse. "Nope, must'a caught myself on glass when them biters came through the window."

"It needs to be treated."

He rolled his eyes at her, "It's jus' a scratch, quit yer damned worrying."

Carol tugged the bag off her shoulders and knelt on the ground next to him. Reaching in to the bag, she pulled out a small thin flashlight, switching it on so she could inspect the wound closely. Her fingers grazed his arm confidently and coolly, and she felt him stiffen at her light touch. She felt a surge of relief as she saw that it wasn't a bite or a scratch from a walker, just a long smooth clean cut across his bicep.

"Leave it woman," Merle growled warningly at her.

She ignored him, sitting back on her heels, rummaging through her bag until her hand closed on the small grubby white handkerchief with her initial embroidered on it, that she had kept with her for so long. She sadly smiled to herself, thinking back to what seemed now an eternity ago, to when her mother had given her it. It had been wrapped around four hundred dollars in notes, and her mother had thrust it at her, begging her to take it and _leave him_, just as Ed had pulled up in the driveway, his car door slamming shut. She had placed her hand on her expanding belly and whispered then that she couldn't just _go_, he was going to be a _father_, and her mother had stormed out, angry frustrated tears streaming down her face. Carol never really saw her mother much after that, nor did she see any of the money that she had left either. All she'd had was that handkerchief and a burning red slapped cheek, the imprint of his hand lasting for just over a week while he drank the money away and she'd had to hide in the house until the mark had vanished.

Unsheathing the knife at her belt and wiping it briefly on the leg of her pants, she cut a strip of the cleanest material she could see from off her shirt. They hadn't found any gauze or cotton pads, and the irony stung at her. Carol placed the handkerchief to the cut on his arm, binding it with the strip off her shirt. She smiled at him, before patting the metal of his prosthetic arm.

Merle glared at her suspiciously as she edged back away from him, sitting a few feet from him with her back to the wall. "Told ya I didn't want yer fussing," he choked. His gaze dragged away from hers to return to sullenly looking at the floor.

Carol shrugged her shoulders, one eyebrow raised quizzically at him. How could two brothers be so alike, and yet so completely and utterly unalike? "Get some rest Merle. For what it's worth, I'll keep watch."

"Don't need no bitch to tell me what to do." He shifted about on his spot on the hard ground. "You mother hen ma lil bro' like this? Yer making him soft," Merle spat petulantly.

"Needing...or asking for help doesn't make anyone soft Merle. It makes them smart. Now, get some rest while you can. I'll watch." She pushed herself off the floor, turning to pace quietly towards the door.

"What fuckin' ever," he growled, glaring at her briefly before closing his eyes.

Carol looked around the room, waiting as she heard his breath grow shallower. When she felt satisfied that he had drifted off to sleep, she stepped lightly across the room, turning the torch on as she moved. Across from the door stood a small white unit, doors partly opened, and a few racks of shelving with what seemed to be small discarded bottles. She shone the light at them, her hands deftly moving, picking bottles up, discarding them when she saw that a few had already been emptied. At the far back of the unit, her hands clutched at a larger bottle, and she brought it out, raising the light to read the contents. Amoxicillan. Carol felt a small smile rise to her lips and triumphantly she dropped the bottle of antibiotics into her bag. She found a few others, Tylenol and some Codeine which she palmed straight away. She searched for a few minutes more, feeling hopeful that she might find more meds which Hershel would undoubtedly be pleased with. She tried to feel not so disappointed when her search came up empty. She had been lucky enough to find the few that she had.

Switching the torch off, she crept back across the room, pausing at the door listening. She wondered where Daryl was, and she prayed that he was all right. With an aching heart she lowered herself to the ground, keeping her back pressed up against the door. She pulled her gun from her belt, and placed it on her lap, waiting.

...


	5. Chapter 5

****Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.****

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...

It hadn't been that long ago since Carol had found herself in almost the same predicament as she was in now. Trapped by walkers, fearful in a small dark confined space, claustrophobia constricting her airwaves and gnawing insidiously at her insides. Only that time-she had been totally alone. Now she took some small measure of comfort and relief at the soft snores issuing from across the floor. Of all the people to have been trapped with, she never in her wildest dreams thought that she would actually feel happy to be cooped up with Merle. But she was. His solid unrelenting presence soothed the chill in her heart. She wasn't alone.

Carol took a sip out of the water bottle clasped in her hand, savouring the warm tepid water as if it were something utterly divine. Back then...that time that she had been lost in those myriad prison corridors and had been almost ready to give up on hope and life, she would have given anything then for a single sip, no matter how tepid, or stagnant the water.

T-Dog's face then ghosted to the backs of her eyes, and she felt the tears fogging her vision thickly. Sat there in the darkness, she sadly remembered his wide smile, his sincere chocolate hued eyes, his boisterous mirthful laugh. She missed him, and felt a poignant sadness settle deep inside of herself. He had been bitten, but not even thinking of himself or his plight, his act so unquestionably selfless, he had given his life up for her to escape. She didn't feel worthy of it then, and she didn't feel worthy of his sacrifice now.

She took another long sip of water, reluctantly screwing the lid back on and pushing it back into the bag at her side. She reached in and pulled another bottle out, undoing the lid and shoving herself to her feet. They had to leave-they'd probably been here for too long as it was, but she had wanted at least one of them to get some rest, albeit how short. Sleep and water would have to be rationed as much as possible from now on.

She leaned over Merle and placed a hand gently on his shoulder, shaking him softly. His eyes snapped open, seeking hers and resting there. She silently handed him the bottle, moving her hand off his shoulder as she turned away from him, not seeing the almost questioning look he shot her.

He took a leisurely slug of water, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, bottle turned upwards in his palm. "Ya let me sleep too long, sugar," Merle chided her mildly as he stood up, rolling his neck to get rid of the chinks and stiffness. He hadn't meant to fall asleep and he felt a shot of guilt that he had, and that she had let him. He handed her back his bottle, half drunk, and she screwed the lid on before ramming it into her bag.

The sound of his voice sudden in the stillness of the room made her heart lurch unexpectedly. She turned and faced him, one hand tugging the strap of her bag over her shoulder. The blade of the knife in her hand gleamed dully in the thin light. "We need to leave, Merle." Trepidation pulled at her deeply and she found that she couldn't hide the nervous tremor from her voice-and from the quick look he gave her, it seemed that he had heard it too.

He shoved his way towards her, growling in what he hoped was a somewhat reassuring voice and said, "Jus' stick close to me, little mouse. Ain't gonna give baby brother no reason to bitch my ass if I don't keep ya nice an' safe."

Carol gripped her blade tighter. She smiled at him wanly, meeting his even tight lipped gaze. "Let's just get this over with."

Merle paused, his hand grasping the door handle. Carol glanced up at him, swallowing tightly, the thunder of her heart almost overwhelming in her ears. She wiped a sweaty palm against the leg of her pants, pushing closer to the door. She was stood so close to him that her nose was almost pressed into the sleeve of his shirt.

As Merle tugged the door open, the walkers heads snapped immediately towards them, and as one they surged. Carol guessed that there must have been at least seven of them, trapped and too stupid to get out, or staying because they thought their next meal was so close. She grimaced at that thought, keeping pace with the man at her side. A walker loomed close to her, and she caught it with her knife, leaning forward to thrust the blade through it's pulpy forehead. Merle was ploughing through them single-mindedly, they were dropping to the floor with heavy sickly boneless thumps.

One walker slithered its ungainly way to her, and she noticed in distaste that its ankle must have been broken, the way it hobbled towards her with its sneakered foot bent and twisted to the side. She knocked its arm away from her with the back of her hand as it reached out, its long raspy fingers clutching at thin air. Its guttural moan was almost one borne out of sheer frustration. She dodged nearer and slipped her knife through its softened decaying skull, an arc of dark blood and grimy gore spraying outwards thickly. Her feet slipped in the sticky black blood and she momentarily grabbed hold of Merle to steady herself. He glanced swiftly at her, panting slightly at her side. She breathed a shaky sigh of relief, a silent thanks that the walkers were finally dead, and that they themselves remained unscathed.

Merle paced across the floor, his feet clomping heavily, and abruptly he kicked out at a corpse with his boot. "Look'it, the dumb fuck," he laughed, grinding his heel into the soft cracked head, half watching as Carol moved past him to the doorway. She just inclined her head momentarily at him, trying her best to avert her sight from the carnage underfoot, but her eyes compelling her nonetheless.

She stepped outside hesitantly. Grimacing, she looked out across the street. Several walkers were ambling slowly down the asphalt, feet shuffling and the low groans seeming loud in the quietness. As she watched, she saw three more walkers raise their heads in their direction, and she noticed more edging towards them from a pathway between two derelict stores. They had to get away from there before they attracted any more unwelcome attention.

His hand on her shoulder broke her train of thought, and as she looked, he gestured with his prosthesis. "Reckon we stand a better chance in them woods than jus' standing here with our thumbs in our asses," Merle grunted.

"Mhm, the car should be there too, unless..." she trailed off, chewing at her lip. She tried to push the unbidden despair to the back of her mind, hoping against hope that Daryl and Rick had made it out safely.

"Ain't no use hangin' round here, c'mon mouse," he strode heavily down the tarmac, turning and waiting impatiently for her to follow.

Holding the strap of her bag more firmly across her shoulder with one hand, she chased after him. Annoyingly, she had to admit to herself that Merle really did seem to be one of a kind. She kept her eyes to the black shirt marching confidently in front of her, seeing how he casually one-armed dispatched any walker that even dared to stray into his vicinity. He had a cocky self assured demeanour, but she had a strange sense that maybe just like Daryl, he was possibly a lot more than what he appeared to be-what he projected to the outside, to people he couldn't...or wouldn't let near. Or trusted. _Just like Daryl_. Or maybe...she was just completely wrong and her first analysis of him at the quarry had been right all along-that he was nothing more than a crude self serving ass.

They stopped at the edge of the cul-de-sac, ankle deep in brown sun scorched grass, where not more than a few hours ago, all of this had surely started. She was unsurprised to see the blank space where the car had been parked. She heard a deep sucked in breath of air as Merle stood next to her, his good hand clamped to the back of his neck. He turned on his heel, his smoky blue gaze boring into hers with wry amusement as he stared back at her.

"Son of a bitch," Merle rasped, eyebrows raising. "They really did go an' leave us."

"Merle," she said, raising her hand and catching him by the elbow. "That car horn I heard? I think Daryl and Rick used the car to draw the walkers away. By all rights there should have been a lot more walkers out there than what there were." He faced away from her but not before she caught the almost rueful cast to his face. _This was __never__ just about herself, he'd lost __his brother__ too_. "Merle, you know that Daryl wouldn't just leave you, not after finding you again. If they hadn't had taken the car, chances are...we'd probably be dead, and them too," she added softly.

He grunted tersely in reply, glancing down at her small hand on his arm, and shrugged. He thought that it seemed Daryl was far more resourceful than he gave him credit for. "We need'a make ground, get the trees at our backs, and find shelter before this fuckin' light quits on us," he said gazing at the waning sunlight. "Them biters will keep to the road more," he nodded, indicating the asphalt behind them with his head.

"Alright," she replied firmly, letting her hand drop from his arm and move to the strap across her shoulder. She eyed the tree-line warily, not really wishing to be caught out at night in the woods, with just the two of them. Chances were they could so easily lose their way amongst the trees in the dark, _despite_ his tracking abilities, and with just the two of them, it would be too much to hope to be able to keep an eye out for walkers as well. If they were in a larger group, that wouldn't be such an issue, but with Merle and herself-well she didn't fancy being caught out there with just him for company, no matter how capable he was.

The sudden dank coolness of the trees shrouded them as they stepped into the undergrowth, her boot caught and snapped on a twig, sending a bird rustling noisily through the foliage. Her eyes quickly scanned for walkers, and seeing none she looked over at him, her blue eyes narrowing suspiciously as she noticed that he carried nothing over his shoulders. "Where's your bag...backpack Merle?"

"Bitches-I mean _women_ an' pussies carry bags an' shit," he smirked at her widely.

Carol frowned at him. "We all carry bags on runs, Daryl and Rick do."

"Point proved, darlin'," Merle smiled, raising an eyebrow at her.

"You're such an ass, Merle," Carol sighed, but as she turned from him, she couldn't help the small half smile pull at her lips.

He followed after her in the woods, four steps behind, and Merle had to admit to himself as he watched her ass wiggling-his curiosity about this woman had been eating him and it had for quite a while now. The interest had piqued a little more since they'd travelled in the car with that damned asshole sheriff driving. He wanted to see exactly what this hold was that this woman had over his little brother. He'd watched them back at the prison. He'd seen them stood close together, laughing like they were sharing some goddamned private little joke. He wasn't ashamed to admit that he had resented it. He'd had half a mind back at the prison to tell baby brother to stop acting like a dumbstruck chicken shit over a piece of fucking skirt. After ever single damn thing they'd been through...and lil' bro had just plain old ignored him, making him feel like the shitty outcast that he felt he was. It just wasn't fucking acceptable. But as he'd watched her, seen how she'd handled herself, how she had held herself together, he begrudgingly had to admit that maybe he could start to see a little of what that attraction was. She certainly wasn't that timid shabby little woman he'd known back at the quarry.

And for the one thing, she now had a bite on her that he somehow liked quite fine. That same curiosity pulled at him temptingly, wondering just _exactly_ how far he could push her- to see just how much she would _bite __back __at him_. Merle smiled to himself. It'd sure make that long assed trek back to the prison a little more interesting.

...


	6. Chapter 6

****Disclaimer: ****I do not own The Walking Dead. ****

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...

Carol noticed that the solitude of the woods didn't seem to affect Merle as much it did his brother. In fact it appeared no matter the circumstance or place-Merle seemed as much at ease wherever he was. Daryl, she knew of old-would have visibly relaxed as soon as he was under the cover of thick foliage. She sensed that for him, it was a sense of belonging, a habit of feeling steadfast reassurance in old familiar settings. In amongst the trees, he thrived, he could be himself and not have to bear the heavy awkwardness of unwanted but inescapable company and the all too judging stares and stigma that his old way life brought back all too often. In fact, Carol had often seen, that if it hadn't been for Daryl, a lot less of the group would be alive now. His hunting skills had kept them fed when other food sources were scarce-especially after the Greene farmstead and all those long empty miles on the road. He'd helped protect them despite his natural reluctance in being part of a group, had even now become a vital asset within their extended family.

A cool breeze blew at her face and as she walked she let her eyes close briefly to the gentle touch on her skin.

They walked steadily together, the thick carpet of pine needles in parts of the woods muffling all sound, even the stead thump of their booted feet. A heavy stillness pervaded, the only noise she heard was their joint breathing and the occasional rustle of some unknown animal or bird winging carelessly through the undergrowth, leaves almost bristling with their unseen passing. Occasionally their arms bumped against each other, hers brushing against the thick brown leather straps of his prosthetic arm. She sighed and glanced down at her side as they walked.

"Does it bother ya, mouse?" Merle asked brusquely.

Her brow puckered as she raised her eyes back up to his face. "Hmm? Does what bother me?"

"_T__his._ Lack of my hand," he raised the prosthesis between them and shook it, his head turned slightly to one side, steely blue eyes regarding her curiously.

She looked up at him shrugging, "Why would it? It's part of who you are Merle. It doesn't bother me at all."

Merle laughed, but she thought the sound was hollow and devoid of humour. "I saw the looks I got at Woodbury. Them dumbasses would jus' about piss their pants an' gawk at me like I was some kinda dumb fuckin' one man freak-show," his eyes narrowed warningly. "Seen them same looks back at the prison. I know _exactly_ what I am sugar, but being a damn useless cripple ain't one of 'em."

She pursed her lips. He certainly wasn't that-a useless cripple. He handled himself more adeptly than most people she knew did with two good hands. "I'm sorry for what happened back at Atlanta. Nobody should have have gone through what you did."

"Ain't _yer_ fault sister. Wasn't _you_ that went an' left me handcuffed to a fuckin' drainpipe." Merle gazed steadily at the treeline, his hand clenching tightly at his side. "Was that high an' mighty sheriff asshole. Him and that damned chink kid. And..." He laughed again, but the sound felt bitter and painful to her ears. "And then_..._that damn piece of nigger shit, _'Mr Yo' _went and dropped the fuckin' key. Well, I'm telling ya, I ain't done ever forgettin' that."

"Rick..."

"Fuck Rick! Ain't nobody ever given two shits 'bout me except my little brother." Merle spat quickly. He couldn't help the spiral of anger that built up within himself, couldn't stop or hold himself back as he leaned so close to her that their foreheads almost touched, his breath taut shallow angry puffs that ruffled the small curls in her greying hair. He knew that it wasn't her fault, but _she_ was here and _they wasn't_ and he felt the uncontrollable need to be pissed with someone, _anyone_-even though a small voice deep inside him told him to _stop_. He ignored that little voice, instead he reached out and grabbed her roughly by the shoulder, his grip tight and firm, before slipping his hand from her shoulder, moving slowly to her face. His hand roughly cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing at her skin.

She held herself there rigidly, coolly defying him. "You're wrong Merle," she said softly.

His eyes narrowed angrily, "Wrong? I _know_ I ain't nothing good, sugar, I never have been," he hissed. "Jus' don't go flattering yerself thinkin' that I fuckin' am. I'm a selfish son of a bitch, always have been-an' if it wasn't for my baby brother, I'd just dump yer fuckin' scrawny ass here." Merle fought back a sliver of guilt that speared him as he watched her eyes widen fractionally. He just stared at her, silence hanging heavily between them, and he was suddenly aware that her eyes were the prettiest shade of blue he'd ever seen. W_hat would it be like to drown in those __eyes? _He swallowed thickly, trying to ignore the sudden thought as it prickled at him curiously. Merle sighed thinly, his brief rage fading as quickly as it had come, resting and souring dully in his gut. _Jesus_, he was turning into a goddamned fuckin' pussy...lil bro would be almost proud of him.

Carol knew as she watched him- if she let him get so much as a hint of a reaction, she would be undone and would lose any amount of respect from him. But, she would also refuse to be brow beaten by him. She'd been through similar with Daryl. She knew the drill down to the letter.

"And who's to say that I just wouldn't go and 'dump' your crippled ass here too, Merle?" She stood stock still, as his fingers grazed gently across her cheek. She held her breath steady at the sensation his action drew, ignoring the sudden clamoring inside of her. She just stared back at him instead, refusing to drop her gaze from his.

Merle laughed suddenly, the smile on his lined face large and surprisingly mirthful. His eyes followed his fingers as he trailed them down her cheek to her jaw, then his hand dropped reluctantly, his eyes snapping back to her face, hand thrusting back to his side. "Well goddamn it, mouse. You really are something, aint'cha?"

"Maybe," she gave him a small knowing smile, feeling the breath shake loose inside her.

He stood regarding her for a moment, his blue eyes smouldering, his gaze casually running up and down her small frame. "C'mon sweetcheeks, we need find some shelter 'fore the night kicks our asses." He shook his head smirking at her, then turned from her and strode off, his boots kicking up leaf debris in his wake.

As soon as his back was turned, she let the pent up air out in one long soft sigh. She half wondered if she had actually just won against him, but she wasn't quite sure just exactly _what_ she had won. Her hand reached up and touched at the place where his fingers had been. Her skin still felt warm from his touch. When he had reached out to her, she'd had to steel herself against the old memories of Ed rising unbidden, but she'd just had this strange odd little faith that Merle for all his bluster and cursing, wouldn't have hurt her. The thoughts left her feeling confused and a little shaky that she'd actually let him touch her.

She sighed again, before she took to her feet and chased after him. She'd felt saddened by his outburst-what he had gone through back at that rooftop in Atlanta had scarred him in more more ways than he thought, and she wasn't sure she could blame him for that, either. It seemed to her, that maybe too often Rick would just decide to take matters into his own hands, and sometimes he never fully thought out the consequences of his actions.

"Well, look what we got here," Merle's voice was suddenly loud, breaking through the heady silence. A bird tore overheard through the dense foliage, squawking wildly at the sound. He looked at her with raised eyebrows, as she came up and stood just behind him, peeking over his shoulder.

A wooden shack stood in a small clearing, two windows either side of the door heavily nailed down with thick planks. A dilapidated porch hung precariously, a small pile of logs clinging to one end. Merle walked over to the hut, stooping slightly with his prosthesis raised at the ready. She took it as her cue to creep along side him, gingerly walking up the three wooden steps and flattening herself to the side of the door, as he gripped the handle, rattling it.

"It's locked. From the inside," he murmured.

She pulled her knife from the sheath at her waist, holding it firmly as he shouldered the door open.

He stood back, his hand held out flat towards her, cautioning her to hold her ground as the battered wooden door swung wildly on its hinges, creaking maddeningly. Merle stepped through the door before she could do or say anything, and the minute that he disappeared from sight was the longest minute she thought. Her breath caught in her lungs, and she sighed in relief as he poked his head back out.

"Ain't nothin' in here but some sad bastard that chose the easy way out." He looked at her grimly. "It's safe mouse, c'mon."

Her nose crinkled as the heady aroma of death and disuse assaulted her senses as she stepped into the small building, and she covered her face with her hand. She heard Merle's boots shuffle towards her, and she flinched despite herself when his hand touched at her shoulder.

The body was laying just beyond the doorway, a male wearing a dark plaid shirt and even darker denim jeans. The majority of his head was missing, the remains splattered dryly across the floor and at least halfway up the surrounding wall. She thought she could see a tuft of brown hair and patch of shriveled skin planted into the wood of the wall. Carol thought she was used to seeing death, but nothing ever really prepared her fully for it, no matter how many times she'd seen it. She felt bile rise hotly in her throat, and coughing abruptly, she shrugged Merle's hand off and sharply turned away from the sight.

...


	7. Chapter 7

****Disclaimer: ****...****I do not own The Walking Dead****.****

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...

Looking around the interior of the shack, Carol saw that its purpose was purely functional and nothing more. It was sparsely furnished and even less sparsely decorated, only a lone single bed and two chairs stood in the room that functioned as a bedroom. She corrected herself, _one chair_-the other Merle had dragged across the floor and was ramming under the door handle since the lock had bust when he'd broken in. A partitioning wall hid a small kitchen-which consisted of nothing more than a small sink and two units, one of which held a busted up camp stove. Beyond that was yet a third smaller room which held a rudimentary lavatory, and on closer inspection-she doubted that she would care very much to use it. She supposed that the small time that they'd been at the prison and before all of that, had made her realise all over again just how much she'd missed the small creature comforts that she had so thoughtlessly given no real consideration to before the turn had come and changed all that.

She walked across to the bed and dropped her backpack on it, absently noting the thin blanket and thick grime coated pillow that lay strewn across the bunk. She ran her hand across her forehead, smoothing her palm across her hairline, feeling the dirt and sweat there with a sudden grimace. She had never been one for vanity, Ed had never allowed that, and she scowled despite herself at just how awful she must truly look now.

Merle caught her eye as he paced across to her, standing there hesitantly before dropping his weight heavily on to the bed. She almost smiled at him as she glanced away-he looked as equally filthy and dishevelled as she did. He sat there with his back to the wall watching her, his prosthesis resting loosely across his lap.

His gaze caught hers again and he smiled sweetly at her, "Say darlin', ya still wanna get that practice in we talked 'bout earlier? The offer still stands. I'm all yours."

He caught her off guard and she was about to ask _what __practice,_ when she saw that he was patting at the space beside him on the bed. She foolishly felt herself start to blush and was glad of the dimness in the room. "I'm going to see if there's any food around, there has to be at least something here."

"Quit stallin' woman. I ain't asking for yer hand in marriage, jus' a quick lil fuck. Hell, I won't even tell baby brother."

"Jesus Merle," Carol hissed, almost choking. "Is that _all_ you think about?"

Merle chuckled dryly, "Last I heard, was some sort'a 'end of world' shit goin' on. Have to grab what ye can, when ya can. We could all die anytime soon an' from what I see, I'm yer best option. Little brother is takin' his sweet assed time...and well shit, we all got _needs_ sugar."

Carol rolled her eyes, trying to ignore what he was insinuating. "Hmm."

Merle sat up more rigidly on the bed, his eyes crinkling. "That a yes?"

"No, goddamn it Merle, it's not," she glared at him, her shoulders hunching stiffly. Her hands clenched at her sides and she sighed quietly, uncurling and flexing her fingers. She didn't quite like the way that his words had hit at an unknown until now sore point. He was right in a way, she had been getting mildly frustrated that her relationship with Daryl seemed to be going nowhere fast, and she had reluctantly realised a while back-that if he wanted nothing more from her, then she would be content with just his friendship. It wasn't like she really needed a man in _that_ way. Memories of Ed had put her off forming any sort of relationship _of that_ _nature_ a long while ago.

Merle couldn't help, nor stop the smile that tugged at his mouth. Damned that he liked to see her getting all worked up and riled. He watched as she stomped across the room from him, his eyes dropping to the curve of her ass. Despite the thin light he could still see that alluring slight wiggle as she walked. He found to his chagrin that he was actually starting to mean what he said. He'd have no problem at all obliging her if she gave him half a chance. "Well hell, ya can't blame me for tryin', but you ever change yer mind sweetcheeks, you know where to find me. You won't regret it. I'm _good,_" he rasped.

He didn't see her widened eyes or the way her mouth suddenly twisted up into a humorous smirk as she stepped into the divided off kitchen. She chose to ignore the slight catch in her heart at his words, the way her blood suddenly thrummed questioningly in her veins. _Damned if he wasn't persistent._ She paused a moment, before kneeling down and tugging open a cupboard door, her nose wrinkling suddenly as she smelled the sudden heavy tang of soured musty foodstuffs. Reaching in, mindful of her fingers not touching anything decayed, she touched at several metal objects rammed at the back of the cupboard. Her hand closed on one, dragging it out, and she saw with little surprise that it was a can of soup. Leaning back in, she found two more, a single can of peaches and precious little else. Her hand slammed the door shut with more force than she intended and she glanced up quickly.

She placed them on top of the work surface, and gave a small thankful sigh for the invention of ring pull lids. A quick inspection of the second cupboard yielded a few stubs of candles on a chipped dirt grimed plate, a box of damp matches- the cardboard all bloated out and the few matches that remained inside mouldy and useless. Scooping it all up into her arms, she made her way back to the bedroom, pausing to drop the cans next to Merle on the bunk. She placed the plate with the candles on the floor. "I don't have anything to light these with. Found matches, but they're no good."

"Candles? Sure ya ain't tryin' to git n' woo my ass, huh woman?" he asked in mock indignation as he knelt on the dusty wood floor, his hand fumbling in his pocket for his lighter.

Carol glanced at him, "Don't you ever quit, Merle?" She didn't wait for him to answer as he lit the candles, instead she took his place on the bed, curling her legs underneath her. "We should rest soon, start out at first light."

She took a can of soup and flipped the lid open, gingerly sniffing at the contents. Merle watched her, and she handed him the can, indicating for him to sit on the chair opposite where she sat. He grumbled at her under his breath before sitting down and slowly lifting the contents of the can into his mouth.

They ate in silence for a while, and Carol let her eyes roam around the candle lit room, trying to look anywhere but at him.

"Ain't gonna sleep in this goddamned chair, mouse," he dropped the empty can on to the floor, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand.

Carol looked at him, and grimaced. The chair was obviously too small judging by the way he was squeezed into it. She turned to her backpack, stuffed the remaining cans inside it and dropped the bag on to the floor. Standing up and sighing, she carried her half eaten food in her hand, "Have the bed, I'll take the chair."

"Ain't no need for that, can always share. I jus' don't wanna put ya out on my behalf," he smiled.

Carol looked at him with narrowed eyes as he brushed past her, and sat back on the mattress. He smirked at her, before laying his full length, and patting again at the space next to him. "What?" he growled as she merely shook her head at him, sitting down and getting herself comfortable in the seat. She had this unshakeable feeling that it was possibly going to be a long night.

Merle sat up, and started unbuckling the strap on his arm. Carol couldn't help but watch as he slid the prosthesis off and dropped it softly on the top of her backpack on the floor. He glanced across at her and their eyes met. His gaze was defiant and hooded, and he cocked his head slightly to one side, as if waiting for her to say something. Satisfied she wouldn't, he lay back down, angling his injured arm under the back of his head, using it as a cushion.

Carol slumped in the chair, stretching her legs out in front of her. She shivered, and rubbed at her arms briskly. She listened for a while, the silence almost deafening in the room. Her ears strained for any noise outside, but all she could hear were the sounds of a breeze blowing through the trees, leaves faintly rustling. She shifted in her seat again, trying to find a more comfortable position, sighing when she couldn't.

"Jesus, mouse! I ain't joking... get your ass over here. I ain't gonna get any damn sleep with all yer sighing an' shivering n' crap," Merle growled irritably. "Shit, I'll even fuckin' behave. I'll be the perfect damned gentleman."

"I'll believe that when I see it," Carol replied wearily. The hard edges of the chair were prodding and aching her, and if they had another long trek in the morning, she knew that she would tire rapidly from either lack of sleep, or stiff and sore muscles. Before she could really stop and think about it too much, she stood by the bed, prodding him viciously in the shoulder. "Move over then."

Merle scooted up the bed, and lifted the blanket for her as she climbed in beside him. "See, ain't I behavin'?"

"The nights early Merle," Carol warned as he draped the blanket back over them both. He shifted next to her and she felt herself start to warm, and she wasn't altogether sure if it wasn't just because of the heat his body gave off, or from the sheer embarrassment she felt at his close proximity. She held herself rigid as she felt his chest press at her back, his knee in the back of her thigh, and his arm drape loosely over her waist. She rolled her eyes, stifling a sigh before clamping her eyes firmly shut. "Tell anyone back at the prison about this Merle, and I swear I will kill you," she hissed through her teeth.

_Well...of course, naturally the first person he'd tell would be Darlina._ Would sure piss lil bro off no end when he got to hear how the little mouse climbed voluntarily into 'his' bed. Merle leaned over her, a sudden thought startling him. "Say sugar, what ya said back at the prison, would ya really cut my throat in my sleep?"

"Mhm. Every damn word Merle, now go to sleep."

Leaning back and resting his head into the crook of his arm, he stared at the back of her head, his breath ghosting at her neck. He let his hand settle more firmly about her waist. He wasn't surprised to find he liked her a little more for that. Merle smiled in the dark.

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	8. Chapter 8

****Disclaimer: ****...****I do not own The Walking Dead.****

_a/n: __I would like to__ thank everyone that has taken the time out to read/review, follow and favourite this little __fanfic-y__our kind words are so very much appreciated! __ And I'd also like to say a special thank you to wildcow258._

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It felt like just another cruel twist of fate, and Daryl hated the sudden sting of irony that pricked at him. Just as he'd finally figured that he had let Merle go, plucked up the courage to say that final damn goodbye in his heart-Merle had come back again like the stubborn motherfucker that he was, clawing open those old shitty wounds. And Daryl found that he couldn't just let him go again, not now, not this time. He'd felt blinding rage and guilt at finding him gone on that rooftop that seemed so long ago, the only thing marking his presence was that damned cut off hand, and Daryl had raged at him in his heart, despising him for making him feel weak and useless, hating him and loving him purely because _he was_ his brother. And then Woodbury, and he'd had to go through all those damned fuckin' emotions all over again.

And now this...

Loss gnawed and itched at him like a picked over scab. "I gotta go back Rick," Daryl stated, hearing a sudden whine in his voice and hating it. "I ain't gonna lose him again. I can't. 'S my brother."

"We are doing what we can Daryl. We have _done_ what we can. I _wish_ things were different," Rick grimaced, taking his eyes off the road to briefly look at him. "Your brother, he's strong, a survivor. If anyone can get through this-he will. I'm sure Carol will be safe with him looking out for her."

Daryl sighed, looking out of the car's window as Rick drove. He almost heard the lie hiding inside the other man's voice. It was what he felt himself. The scenery sped before them, a molten mix of heady greens, browns, and grays. _If you only knew my bro__ther__._ "Yeah, he's a stubborn son of a bitch, he always was."

Rick nodded, his eyes back on the road. "Daryl, they'll make it."

He wondered why the shit Rick cared, why he would say that. It was no secret that Rick hated Merle, didn't really want him back at the prison. And, if he was honest with himself-he didn't know if he wanted him back either. Merle was a fuckin' asshole, had left him more times than he cared to remember. He knew. He had the scars to prove it.

The walkers were miles behind them, too stupid and slow to comprehend that their prey had in fact tricked them. After just over mile, Rick had slowly increased the speed of the car, not even needing to blare the horn anymore to attract their attention. They had milled about in a mindless stupor, and as the car had speed away they had just fallen raggedly apart, shambling broken and aimlessly. In a way, it had been relatively easy-the road ahead luckily had been pretty much walker free-just a few that had staggered out of the tree line at the sound of the approaching vehicle, but the car now too fast and their reactions too slow to go in pursuit.

They were making good time, and Daryl was at least thankful for that. As soon as they got back to the prison, it was his every intention to go straight back out and pick up the search. Wasn't no way he was gonna just go and abandon them. And as much as Rick had some sort of weird assed faith that Merle would look after Carol, Daryl worried. Carol-although she could look after herself a whole lot better than she could before when they'd been on that highway and back at the Greene farm-she still wasn't strong enough, despite everything that she had gone through and suffered. He wished that he'd had more time to teach her. He wished that he could have at least grown the balls to let his guard down around her. He wished he'd been there instead of his brother...Daryl clenched his teeth angrily. _Wishes __are__ for fuckin' pansy ass fools_ he heard Merle's voice harsh and unbidden in his head. _Ain't no__ne __ever __gonna help us baby bro__ther__. It's always jus' you an' me. Never forget that. Ain't no __damned __wish gonna make anythin' alright for us._

"Are we good, Daryl?" Rick asked, his voice low and breezing abruptly into his thoughts.

Daryl frowned, "Huh?"

Ricks voice was quiet, almost a soft murmur, and Daryl felt a sudden rising panic engulf him. He had a feeling what was going to be asked, and be fucked if this was the time or place. He squirmed uncomfortably in his seat, wishing that Rick would just shut the hell up.

"At that store. I know you saw..." Rick's voice trailed off, and Daryl vainly hoped that he would just drop it. His heart dropped when Rick resumed speaking. "I trust you Daryl...and hell, I'm sorry..."

"Ain't no problem man, I dunno what you're talking 'bout. I didn't see any damn thing," he replied quickly.

Rick laughed quietly, glancing at him, and Daryl risked a small peek back at him through the hair dangling thickly over his brow. Be damned that Rick wasn't happy at all what with the way his eyes had that sad semi-vacant glaze. He thought it strangely ironic that he'd always thought that the fucked up ones were him and his brother and their whole goddamned dysfunctional family, but shit if the eventual undead turn hadn't changed his mind. Seemed people were fucked up everywhere, no matter their upbringing, their individual situations. Made it feel all the more reason that it just felt safer just to be out hunting in the woods alone. People had always made his skin itch, made him feel uncomfortable.

They fell into an awkward silence. Daryl didn't feel like talking, partly in fear that Rick might just go banging on about what had happened. He chewed at his thumbnail, gazing out of the window, avoiding the curious glances that Rick shot at him every now and again. Eventually Rick had stopped peering at him and just drove the damned car. At least he'd finally taken the hint and dropped it, Daryl thought.

He felt a surge of relief as they approached the prison gates, although he was dully aware of just how dark it had gotten. He didn't care-he was going to unload the meager supplies they'd gathered, repack, then he was going to pick the search back up. He'd already mentally thought that he'd take the car and not the bike. If..._when_ he found them both, he'd obviously need the damned car.

Glenn was at the gate, and Daryl frowned when he saw that the young Korean was dressed in the black riot gear that they'd pilfered from a supply room. Glenn looked odd being out there on his own with no Maggie in tow. _Merle_, he thought sourly, _the __jackass__ wasn't even there and he was still causing problems_. Seemed nothing had changed between Glenn and Maggie. _It was all Merle's __goddamned __fault_...the Asian kid's face still roughly and markedly bore the aftermath of his brothers fury.

The car hadn't even stopped before Daryl was throwing the door open. He grabbed his crossbow and backpack and rushed out, his boots smacking the concrete with a thud. He was losing time, every single minute increasing the anxiety that was blossoming in his chest. He had this weird assed feeling that if he didn't act soon...if he didn't go out and start the search that Rick would just order him to stay back, and he knew that he _would_ hang back. Rick would always make him see reason even if he didn't necessarily feel it himself. But Merle and Carol were out there without any sort of back up, and he couldn't just leave them. He didn't want to question himself too much, didn't really wish to think how they were coping...what they were doing. He just needed to go and find them, and once he'd gotten them back safely-he'd just have to deal with whatever the repercussions that Merle being back _yet again_ would undoubtedly bring.

He raced through the prison to his perch, having to stop himself from almost throwing the accumulated crap out of his backpack, his hands racing and fumbling in their haste to repack with immediate supplies. His heart convulsed tightly in his chest...and then he was done, throwing the reloaded bag over his shoulder, darting down to pick his crossbow back off the floor where he'd dropped it. He sped down the steps, his boots clattering loudly over every metal rung.

Daryl knew it was going to happen, that he was too late, and it was just too fuckin' dark, when he saw Rick and old man Hershel stood there solemnly regarding him. He knew then that he didn't have a hope- even if he'd managed to find their trail, the non-existent light would be against him. Rick held his hand up, placing it against his chest, firmly stopping him, the sheriffs blue eyes watching him cautiously. Angrily he smacked the hand away, leaning close to the other man, his words a jumble in his head that stubbornly refused to come out. Glowering, he jabbed at him with one finger, his eyes narrowed. Hershel hobbled closer, his hand coming out to try to placate.

Daryl looked at them both with disgust. "This ain't over, man," he hissed shaking his head, before spitting at the ground next to them. He turned on his heel and lurched back up to his perch, the furious growl of frustration bitten back down, locked tightly in his throat.

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	9. Chapter 9

****Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.****

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A thin and thready light weaved its way through the boarded up window, sending pale little tendrils that whispered at her skin. Heat, soothing and comforting held her in its blanketed grasp. She snuggled more firmly into it, not wanting slumber to drift away, her eyes refusing to open. She couldn't recall a time that she had felt so warm and safe. A soft little sigh escaped her, and she slipped her arm more tightly around the solid presence that cushioned her.

"Was it as good for you, as it was for me, darlin'?" a voice drawled so close to her, that she could feel the soft little exhale of breath brush against her skin.

Her eyes snapped open, and she found herself staring up at smoky blue eyes that watched her intensely.

_Oh my God...Merle._

He was leaning above her, was so close that their noses were almost touching, his breath soft and warm, tickling against her lips. Carol felt her cheeks heat and redden. She swallowed thickly and suddenly, her eyes widening as his head moved fractionally nearer to hers, his mouth now so close to hers that she wouldn't even have to move for her lips to find his. Her heart beat an almost frantic tattoo in her chest and she froze, the sudden realisation that her arm was still bound tightly around his waist. She blinked rapidly, half wondering if she was still asleep, but his face was still close to hers, and she fought against the paralysis that gripped her, even though she felt warmth start to course through her veins.

"For Christ's sake, stop it Merle," she hissed, her hand loosening its grip from about his waist. She let her hand slip away, and placed it firmly against his chest, pushing him from her, feeling him move easily under her hand.

He chuckled next to her, "Don't flatter yerself mouse. I ain't never forced myself on a woman that wasn't willing, an' it sure as hell ain't happenin' now."

She thought she could hear disappointment in his voice. "I didn't mean that..." Mentally she kicked herself, wondering why she'd said that.

"Well hell, ye really are Daryl's' little bitch, aint'cha?" he grinned at her. "Your jus' the same as him."

"How dare you!" Carol shoved herself from the bed, sudden anger flashing hotly through her. Her feet hit the wooden floor, and she pushed herself away from him, away from his comfortable warmth. She paced across the room and stood there with her arms banded tightly about herself. "I don't care what you think," she spat.

"Makes two of us sweetheart," Merle drawled as he sat up, his eyes flashing at her darkly. He retrieved his prosthesis from where it lain, and strapped it back on, ignoring her as she watched him. He stood up slowly, stretching to remove the kinks and ache from his limbs. She was still stood there regarding him warily, and he brushed past her as he walked to the doorway, his elbow coming out and knocking against her. He bit down a laugh as she glared at him.

"We're leaving now?" she questioned as she stepped across the floor, picking her backpack up, her eyes still following him.

"I gotta take a piss, unless ya wanna come an' watch me do that too," he pulled the chair from the door, and turned his head, smirking at her.

His boots rattled down the rickety steps and she just stared after him, shaking her head as she pulled the straps of the bag over her shoulder. Stepping out of the shack, she paused, taking a last look behind her. She saw a dark object laying on the floor, and bent to pick it up. A ripple of sadness coursed through her as she realised it was the gun that the former inhabitant had used to end his life. With a small sigh she dropped it into her bag and followed after Merle into the woods.

She stood in the morning light, feeling the first rays of sun warm and pleasant against her skin. A twig snapped to her left, and she turned on her heel watching as Merle walked towards her. He quirked an eyebrow, and she bit at her lip, not wanting to smile at him.

"Disappointed ya didn't come and enjoy the view mouse," he chided her, reaching out and pulling the bag off her shoulder. Her hand snaked out and grabbed at the strap, stopping as he sighed, "Let me carry that."

"I thought you said only pussies carry bags," Carol reminded him.

"An' I told you that I can be nice." He hoisted the straps over his shoulder. "See? Ain't I behavin'? Maybe if I keep doin' this sorta crap, you can put in a good word with our Darlina."

"Will take more than carrying a bag, Merle," she laughed as they walked. There was a worn path that they hadn't seen the night before, and she saw it lead right through the thick expanse of trees.

"Mhm, maybe. Ya wont take me up on any other offer darlin', I'm getting damn well disappointed. Yer missing out on some good ole Merle lovin'."

Carol glanced at him walking at her side, her head tilting to one side, "You don't ever quit, do you?"

He smiled at her briefly, the lines around his eyes crinkling, "Ya only have to say 'yes', sugar."

She rolled her eyes at him, choosing not to answer and encourage him. They walked in silence for a while, stopping only twice to put down three walkers that had ambled through the treeline, low throaty growls breaking the heavy stillness.

The sun was now beaming overhead, and she felt sweat prickle at the back of her neck. "Merle, stop a minute, need to take a break." He looked at her grunting in reply, and she walked over to him, unzipping the bag and taking out two water bottles. She noted regretfully that they didn't have much left. "Here," she handed him the bottle that had the most water in it, flipping the lid on hers and swallowing it gratefully. She let herself lean against a thick tree, thankful of the heavy foliage that shaded her.

He drained his bottle, and stuffed it back into the bag on his shoulder.

"So, what happened at Woodbury?"

"Ain't nothin' to tell," he turned brusquely from her.

"You never said, and Daryl hasn't said much about it either..."

"What the hell you want me to tell ya?" Merle looked at her."I found my baby brother, an' we fuckin' lived happily ever after? Is that what ya wanna hear?"

Carol shook her head, ignoring his sarcasm. "I just want to know."

"You don't know jack shit," Merle spat, "You don't know what _he_ did. What he is capable of. The Governor."

Carol looked at him sympathetically, "I don't know unless you tell me."

Merle paused for a few moments, looking at her thoughtfully, his hand rubbing at his face. His mouth twisted in to a sneer."You know, for a while...I was somebody there. Woodbury. I _mattered_. Now I ain't worth nothin. I'm a dead man walking. There ain't no good for me no more. All I had was my baby brother, an' now I reckon I about lost him too."

"Daryl wouldn't just write you off..."

"What the fuck you know? You reckon you know my little brother?" He shook his head, scowling. "Sister, yer fooling yourself, an' your wasting your time with me. I done plenty bad things, some I ain't even proud of. Shit. I don't even _know_ why I do what I do."

"Merle," Carol stepped nearer to him, despite the hammering in her chest warning her to move away. She found she just couldn't. Something about him compelled her. "What happened?"

"You really wanna fuckin' know? Do ya?" He barked, his voice heightening in tone. Carol knew she should just drop it, but the look in his eyes pushed her further. She wanted to know, and she wasn't prepared to let him intimidate her.

"I do," she said, her voice a soft lull against the roughness of his anger.

Merle glared at her, before pushing her abruptly against the trunk of the tree. Her back hit the wood solidly, almost painfully and despite the widening of her eyes, she refused to back down from his angry gaze. He had to give her kudos for that. The woman had balls. His hand pressed hard against her shoulder, and angrily he smacked his prosthesis against the wood above her head.

"Tell me," she insisted, her voice nothing more than a low soothing whisper.

Merle leaned his prosthetic arm against the tree trunk above her, his arm pressing hard against her shoulder, pinning her. He looked down at the ground, his breath harsh, before raising steely eyes to hers. She met his gaze unblinkingly. "He got an 'arena'. The Governor. Two men fight, while he got a whole goddamned captive audience watchin, an' he pushes biters in to the mix. You know?"

Carol frowned, "I wasn't at Woodbury, so no I don't know. What do you mean, walkers?"

His eyes narrowed and he sighed in impatience, "The Governor keeps biters jus' for that arena. Pulls their teeth out, keeps 'em chained. Pits two fighters against each other."

"That's sick," she said faintly.

"You don't know half of what went down in Woodbury. He'd got my lil brother. Put a sack over his head. Demanded that we fight to the death. Blood against blood." He laughed bleakly, and she could see sorrow chase briefly across the blue of his eyes. "He called me a traitor, said I'd led them all to Woodbury. Bullshit, I never did any such fuckin' thing. But that Governor? He's there, pitting me and Daryl against each other, winner walks free. I maybe a fool where my baby brother is concerned, but I ain't stupid. Was no way I was gonna let anythin' happen to him. Sure we took a few licks, we both hit good, but no way was I gonna bust his ass."

"He _made_ you and Daryl fight?" She asked quietly, the thought making her feel nauseous.

Merle let his arm drop loosely to his side and let go of his grip on her, stepping back a pace instead. He felt confused as to how her closeness made him feel, and he didn't want to dwell on it. "Is what I said sister, ye gone deaf?" he growled.

Carol stayed leaning against the tree, her hand rubbing at her shoulder. "What about Glenn? Maggie?" She asked quickly, not really wanting to understand his reasoning, but wishing to drive the conversation while his mindset was focused.

Merle scowled at her largely, "Glenn? An' that sweet lil thing of a farmers girl?" He laughed again, "Shit, I don't owe them nothin'. Fuck all. I don't regret what I did, and don't go expecting me to."

"You beat Glenn up!" Carol choked out. "You almost killed him."

"Whatcha expect? I was pissed off! Kim chi left me up on that rooftop with Mr. Yo and the rest of them spineless fuckin pussies. You really expect me to forgive them _for that_? I lost my fuckin hand 'cause of 'em. When I found them, that chink kid was hardly gonna volunteer where Daryl was. So yeah, I took 'em both right back to Woodbury. I wanted answers, so I tried a little 'friendly persuasion'. Kid did surprise me though, beat off that biter I threw at him. He looks so small an' sneaky, but he's a tough lil son of a bitch. He'll get over it."

Carol felt sick at his answer, felt sick that he had felt the need to resort to violence to achieve his ends. It seemed that was all he knew, and she felt sadness sneak up inside her. Daryl and Merle both, what their past lives before the turn must have been like. She wasn't surprised to feel a sudden bolt of anger and sympathy surge through herself. They were all victims, herself included.

A sudden sound reached her and she moved her head trying to locate its source. She felt the skin on her arms prickle, her breath catch in her throat. "Merle," she hissed suddenly, "Shut up."

His eyes flashed angrily at her, "Woman, don't ya tell me to shut..."

She turned on him, grabbing his arm and touching his lips with one finger. "Listen."

Merle cocked his head, his ears straining, then he heard it. Voices, male, coming through the trees, slightly muffled, and from the sound of it, there were a few of them. He looked at her grimly, "Stay here mouse, let me check this out."

"No, I'm coming with you," she let go of his arm and stood back from him, waiting, her hand skimming and then resting on the gun tucked into the waistband of her pants.

"No, you ain't. I'll keep you safe. Jus' you stay here an' wait for me, I ain't gonna be gone long." He stared at her in warning, and then he nodded curtly before creeping towards the voices, palming his gun to his hand.

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	10. Chapter 10

****Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.****

_a/n: I'd like to say a quick thank you to everyone that has reviewed and favorited/followed this story...and another special thank you to wildcow258 for giving me the idea of putting Daryl and Rick into this chapter-my original intention was not to have these two in it, but I think it kind of worked out well enough._

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Merle crouched and watched from his vantage spot of a large overgrown bush, his eyes on two men a small distance from where he was hidden. He held his breath, narrowing his eyes as he thought on what to do. His main concern was the woman hidden, he hoped, safely away some distance from him. He knew that he wouldn't let these men live...and even if that spelled bad fucking news for him, it would be worth it just to keep her safe. He felt he was on borrowed time anyway, so what the hell. Besides, these assholes didn't deserve any damn thing, he knew this now from his brief time at the prison. He let his caught up breath release quietly in one long drawn out sigh, and made his move.

"Long way from home, ain'tcha boys?" He called out as he stepped from beneath the shrub he'd used as cover. A grin stretched across his face as he watched the two men wrestle with a moldering female walker in a flowing tattered mud smeared dress. "Gonna use that pig sticker? Or ya thinking of jus' tickling that biter?" The mans knife fell to the floor as one of the biters arms flailed maddeningly around. Merle watched, he knew those men, recognised them as wanna-be soldiers from Woodbury, and he felt a hard grim determination seep through him as he saw the surprised little looks they gave him.

"Merle," said one grimly calling over his shoulder, "You're a dead man, you fucking asshole."

"I don't doubt that, but ya'll gonna die long time 'fore I do," Merle let his eyes rake across the man, the grin plastering firmly on his face. "Oh hell," he cackled, watching the other man-he'd forgotten his name and the truth be told, he found he didn't actually give a fuck. The way he was wrestling that biter, he'd soon be dead anyways. "You need'a put that bitch down!" he jeered mirthfully.

The second guy glanced at him warily, his eyes quickly sweeping from him to the other man that was now down on the ground, the biter sprawled half across the top of him, teeth all a snapping as he struggled with one hand under its neck, pushing it upwards as his other hand reached out for his dropped knife.

"Greg, for fuck's sake help..." yelped the man on the floor.

"Shit," Greg hissed and he rushed towards his fallen comrade, his sneakered foot carelessly kicking the knife across the ground.

"Buncha pussy assed amateurs," Merle taunted, stepping nearer and raising the gun in his hand.

"You gonna help us?" Greg fumbled with the knife in his belt, hissing in frustration as he couldn't tug it free, deciding instead to reach down and tug at the female walker.

Merle shrugged, "Why the fuck do ya think I'm gonna go an' help two numb nuts like yourselves? I'm findin' that kinda _ironic_." He squinted with one eye and took steady aim, before loudly popping a bullet firmly through Greg's forehead. "Mhm," he sighed, raising his eyebrows as he watched the man slump heavily and land on top of the biter. "Kid I dunno know yer name, and if I'm honest, I really don't give a rats ass, but it sure looks like yer screwed." He watched as the biter clawed at the mans face, the loud snap and splattering crunch as its teeth finally connected with flesh and bone, and he lowered his gun, nodding at the young man as he heard his frantic howls of anguish and pain.

He heard a soft rustle come from the bushes behind him, and he spat loudly and cursed silently, as he glanced over his shoulder. Damned if that little mouse hadn't done as she was told. He'd caught sight of her face, her wide eyes, and in that split second, he'd seen that her gun was in her hand. He dragged his gaze away, not noticing a third man slip silently to his side, and he didn't see until it was too late the barrel of a gun slam viciously to his temple. He landed heavily on his knees in the dirt, his prosthesis slowing his fall, the blade stabbing awkwardly into the soft ground. His gun spun from his hand, landing softly in the leaf debris.

"What tha fuck?" he spat angrily.

"Exactly," a voice droned thickly behind him, "You old asshole, you should have just stayed gone. I know for a fact that the Governor will be more than happy to see your ugly face, or your head, I guess it doesn't matter so much to him."

Merle laughed. "'I bet he would, shame that jus' ain't gonna happen, ya piece of chicken shit." He knelt in the dirt, his hand grasping at the soft earth. There was a soft sudden swoosh, and then he felt white hot pain as a boot slammed hard into his face, and he groaned as he thought he felt his nose break under the quick pressure, his blood spraying out warm and thick, gushing down his cheeks and chin.

He felt a hand grab at his shirt collar, and for a moment, he tiredly concluded _that __this really __was it_, this was gonna be the goddamned end for him, and he thought sullenly of all the things he'd done and of all the thing's he'd never done, and he wondered idly if anyone would actually give a fuck, or even miss him.

A loud crack of gunshot rang out, breaking into the quiet, the only other sound his rasping ragged breathing, and dimly he thought he heard a bird somewhere above screaming its fear far into the trees. A second shot rang out, and he was mildly aware of the rigid pressure that had been around his neck had now eased and fallen away, and then the dull solid thud of a body smacking against the ground. He let his eyes close, wondering what exactly was the fucking point of anything.

A hand reached down, tugging and pulling at his arm, trying to pull him to his feet, and he raised his head sluggishly, looking with total bewilderment at the woman stood near to him.

Carol shoved her gun back into the waistband of her pants, and knelt on the ground next to him, her one hand catching gently across the back of his head. "Get up Merle, please," she demanded, and as he met her gaze, he saw fear shining largely and luminously in her eyes. He retrieved his gun, and struggled back to his feet, watching as she stood undecided over the body, her knife appearing suddenly in her hand.

"Don't Carol. Leave 'em," he rasped, "Let the fuckers turn. I don't care."

Her eyes widened again, and she said quietly, "We can't just leave them like that, it's not who we are."

He shoved his gun into his pants, and quickly wiped the dirt off his blade on to his thigh. He reached out quickly and grabbed at her arm, his grip tight. "Don't ya dare for one minute think what the outcome of _this_ would've been if they'd gotten hold of ya. I _know_ what that sick fuck wanted to do to Maggie," he swallowed thickly as her gaze caught his, the hot flash of anger and understanding in her blue eyes. "Would've been worse for you. I don't care what ye fuckin' think of me right now, but I wasn't gonna let that happen to _y__ou_. These people...they would've killed me, and taken you back to the Governor. So no, don't ya fuckin' dare. Let 'em turn."

Merle saw with some small satisfaction that she had re-sheathed her knife, and he turned away from her, hacking up a thick clot of blood, spitting it out over the corpse. His hand slipped down her arm, grabbing at her hand, pulling her with him as he turned quickly on his heel. "Let's move our asses... biters gonna come, what with that pretty show of gunfire ya put up. Although, there's at least one biter that's gonna be pretty busy," he indicated with his prosthesis the lone female walker that was slowly devouring one of the fallen men. "Heh...with any luck, others will jus' see that free for all biter-buffet I jus' ever so kindly donated to."

They ran back through the woods for a while, until the wheeze of his breath bubbling out of his nose left him panting for his breath. He slowed up, letting her hand go, and rubbed at his forehead with the back of his hand.

"You're hurt," she stated blankly, moving closer to him.

"It ain't nothin," he mumbled, despite the harsh sting of the reopened cut on the bridge of his nose. Blood trickled down his cheek, his temple and he swatted at it with his hand, glancing down at the crimson smeared darkly across his palm.

"Here, let me look at you," her voice was low and full of concern.

"Told ya woman, it ain't nothin," he sighed irritably again, alarm tinging his voice as he saw that she was stood a lot closer to him now than he'd originally thought. His breath felt heavy in his lungs, and he exhaled, the sound whistling through his bust up nose. "Never was a pretty boy," he grumbled, "An' now look at me, ain't I jus' delightful?"

Her hand touched at his cheek, and he flinched. "Don't be so stubborn Merle," she said softly, frowning as her fingers fluttered against his skin.

Merle fought against the sudden lump in his throat as he looked at her, as he felt her touch. She was staring up at him and he was damned if he couldn't see tears misting in those pretty eyes of hers. He felt tightness grow in his chest at her closeness, he felt trapped and he wanted to rage at her, push her away and tell her to get the fuck out and just leave him the hell alone. But when he glanced at her again, saw those tears shimmering in her blue eyes he felt something loosen up inside of him. The anger he wanted so badly to feel didn't come, instead it twisted into something else, something he didn't totally believe he could feel, and it scared him. "I ain't worth your pity, save it for some fucker more deservin'," he said tightly.

She shook her head at him, "Why are all you Dixon's the same? You and your brother, you're both stubborn, hot headed asses."

He just grunted at her in reply, then froze as she wiped at the blood on his chin with the cuff of her shirt, her touch so light and gentle, and he found himself suddenly wondering if she would notice the heady thrum of blood pounding at his temple. He twisted his head away from her, holding himself rigid as her other hand came up and cupped his cheek. She stared at him defying him to move again, even so much as tut tutting at him as she resumed wiping the blood off his skin. He let himself grow still, hardly daring to breath, trying to avert his eyes from the gentleness he saw in hers, instead staring resolutely over the top of her head. "Jus' stop it woman," he hissed weakly at her.

"No Merle I won't," She looked up at him and he was terrified to see a tear trickle down her cheek. "You could have died, you idiot." Her breath hitched loudly and Merle suddenly thought that facing a whole herd of biters would have been a lot more easier to deal with than this woman crying tears for _him_. He wasn't worthy of any of that shit. Nobody had ever cried for him.

"Ain't 'aving no bitch cry boo hoo tears for ole Merle. Didn't ask for your pity an' I sure as hell don't deserve, or want it. Jus' go an' save it sister," he sneered spitefully, wanting her to just move the hell away from him before he did something that they might both just regret.

She glanced at him sadly, shaking her head, before letting her hand slip slowly from his cheek to rest firmly on his chest, her fingers splayed out, cool against the warmth of his skin.

He glanced down at her hand, his eyes narrowing heatedly, "I'm tellin' ya. You wanna get the hell away from me woman, leave me the shit alone," he growled. "I ain't nothin' good." Frustration seethed in his chest as she didn't move, and he pushed against her, shoving at her, and although she moved backwards a step with him, she still didn't move away, and her small hand still rested against his chest. He smothered a growl, raising his arm to push her away again, but wondering and hating himself as his arm slipped unbidden around her waist, pulling her closer. He felt the sudden stab of a headache pound before his eyes, and he cursed himself, and her more. As much as he didn't want to acknowledge it to himself, she felt _so __damned __good_ all pressed up against him. He closed his eyes briefly, trying to ignore the little inner voice that was laughing and jeering at him, calling him a weak assed fuckin' pansy, and he was getting himself all worked up for nothing more than a cheap piece of skirt. But he knew it was a lot more than that- she wasn't _just_ a piece of skirt. She'd earned his begrudging respect and more, and he was damned if he would act on his impulses...if only she would...

His eyes fluttered open in disbelief as he felt the whisper of a kiss at the side of his mouth and as he looked down at her, she stood back off her tiptoes and gave him a small little smile that did more than warm the hardness of his heart. Trepidation curled uneasily in his stomach, and his arm pushed her more firmly to him. He lowered his head slowly, his lips nothing more than a breath away from skimming across hers. He discovered that he badly wanted to know if she tasted as sweet as she sounded.

"Merle?" He froze as he heard a familiar voice reach him, and he glanced down at the woman in his arms, their faces less than an inch apart. "Where are ya, ya big dumb son of a bitch?"

Booted feet kicked through the thick undergrowth hurriedly, and turning his head from hers, Merle glanced over Carol's shoulder feeling her stiffen suddenly against his chest, and then he saw him. Daryl suddenly appeared through the treeline, standing there, his hand hesitantly tugging at the strap of his crossbow on his back, and he wasn't alone. That annoying fucking asshole sheriff was stood just behind him. He stifled back a groan of resentment as he watched as Rick looked at him thoughtfully, the gun in his hand lowering ever so slowly.

"Took ye long enough, baby brother," he grinned suddenly at Daryl. Reluctantly he lowered his arm from her, feeling a sliver of regret slip through him as she stepped back. She briefly glanced back at him, offering him another small tight smile, and Merle found his blood pulse thickly at her look.

Daryl edged closer, his eyes squinting and dragging from Carol to him, and then back again to her.

"Asshole," Daryl grunted, as Rick moved over to where Carol stood.

"Are you alright?" Rick asked her quietly, his eyes firmly riveted on the man stood just behind her.

Merle paced over angrily. "Course she's alright, what the hell did ya expect, Officer fuckwit?" He shrugged as he felt the other mans hot hateful glare. "Whoa," he chuckled, spreading his arms upwards, "Gonna arrest me? Gonna bust my ass and handcuff me? Well shit, ya already been gone an' done that," he spat waving his prosthetic arm wildly in the air.

"Don't tempt me Merle," Rick said as he placed one hand on Carol's shoulder, giving her a small squeeze. "Did he..?"

"Jesus Rick," she said abruptly, edging away from him so his hand flapped briefly at empty space. "He didn't do anything."

"Didn't look'it, from what I saw," Daryl drawled. He glared at Merle, "If ya touched her, hurt her, I swear..."

Merle huffed and looked as indignant as he felt. _Well damn_, he thought, _jus' look at lil bro._ "You gonna swear _what, boy_?" He laughed again as he saw Daryl's eyes hit the earth, refusing to look at him. "What ye gonna do, huh?"

"Stop it Merle," Carol said softly as she walked across to his brother. Daryl glanced up at her, a small smile playing about his lips.

Merle felt disappointment well up inside him as he watched them together. Carol's hand, the hand that had been on _him_ a few moments ago was now resting on his little brothers arm, and he was surprised to see that his brother didn't so much as flinch from her touch. _I'll be __g__oddamned_. His shoulders slumped wearily, "Ah hell...whatever," he sneered.

"You know, I actually am half tempted to 'cuff him and leave him for the walkers," Rick said almost brightly, tilting his head to one side staring at Merle narrowly, before turning on his heel and striding through the woods.

Merle huffed again, "You ain't got balls big enough p...Rick," he called out.

"Merle, just shut the fuck up brother," Daryl glowered, "I wouldn't blame him if he did, ya never do yaself any goddamned favors."

Carol's hand was still on his little brothers arm, and Merle watched as she ever so gently propelled him along the path, following after that shitty sheriff. His mouth twisted downwards sourly, and ignoring the sudden little spear of jealousy that spiked in his gut, he followed after them, never taking his eyes off the woman walking ahead with his brother.

...


	11. Chapter 11

****Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.****

_a__/n: I guess from now on in, I will be steering away a bit off canon, and going a little __more __AU, although the main plot of the story will remain mostly the same. Also, I have moved the __first __little scene with Beth from a later episode to here, as I felt it fitted __in __better in regards to my story line. __S__ome of the dialogue I have altered, I didn't really __feel happy __just quot__ing__ direct__ly__ from the series._

* * *

...

They hadn't been back at the prison for at least twenty whole minutes before it had all massively kicked off. Carol had walked into the cell block with Daryl at her side, Rick just in front and Merle trailing along behind, when she heard rather than saw Glenn slam angrily out of his cell. His face was contorted with a wild fury that Carol had never seen before, and he had almost leaped across the floor, slamming into Merle, almost knocking the man off his feet.

"_What the hell is he doing back __here __again__?_"Glenn yelled as his hand curled into a tight fist and smacked sharply across the older man's jaw. Merle stepped back a pace, raising his hand to swat at his face. Glenn punched at him, his fist connecting solidly, and Carol watched aghast as Merle's face spilled with fresh blood, feeling a horrified stunned shock flood through her.

Maggie's voice, loud and shrill echoed across to them, "Leave him Glenn, just stop this!" the sound of her feet urgent as she flew down the stairs. "He isn't worth it!"

Glenn raised his hand again, but this time Merle blocked it with his prosthetic arm, his hand coming out and grabbing at the younger man's shirt, twisting it and shoving at the Asian roughly, almost pushing him off his feet and slamming him firmly against the wall. "Don't you touch me boy, don't you fuckin' touch me!" Merle's face was contorted in rage and he spat at the younger man as he thrust his chin out at him. He smacked his prosthesis at the wall above Glenn, dodging his head neatly to the side as Glenn tried to headbutt him. "Sneaky lil fuck," Merle shouted.

Carol tore her gaze from them, and stared bleakly across to the dark ebony woman keeping her distance in the background. She was stood casually leaning against a table, the katanna in her hand pointed blade first to the ground. Her dark eyes were cold and dispassionate, and she dismissed Carol with a curt glance, turning her head as she caught sight of the question in Rick's eyes, "This isn't my quarrel."

Rick palmed his hand swiftly across his brow and spun abruptly from her to Merle, stepping forward as Daryl pushed past him, the hunters hand snatching and grabbing at his brothers shirt. "Merle, c'mon," he hissed, "Don't do this."

Carol was dimly aware that she could hear the baby screaming in the background, and she tried to step past the brawling men, but Rick's hand came out and caught her sharply, pushing her out of the way.

"Fuckin' chinky bastard," Merle thrust himself firmly against the smaller man, pinning him. Glenn's eyes were still wild and he lunged again suddenly, spitting a thick gobbet of saliva at him, laughing as it dripped down Merle's cheek. "Oh, yer gonna pay for that, you fuckin' lil asshole..."

"Merle, quit it bro, just c'mon man," Daryl pleaded, tugging at him.

"Get the shit off'a me, lil brother, I got business here," Merle seethed.

Rick stepped forward, raising his hand cautiously, gauging Merle's reaction warily, "Let him go, and step away slowly..."

"An' fuckin' what? Officer finally gone an' grown a spine? Gone an' grown some _man_ balls?" Merle laughed sourly, his grip tightening on Glenn's shirt, holding him squarely to the wall.

Carol watched, her hand covering her mouth, desperately wanting to step in and stop all this sheer madness, but not knowing what, or how to do it.

Maggie just stood there, frozen in place, her face a ghastly ashen white, tears spilling hotly down her cheeks. "Let him go Merle, please just let him go," she sobbed, her breath hitching.

Nobody noticed the small blonde girl step softly behind them all, nobody heard the faint tread of her cowboy boots as they scuffed across the floor, and nobody even saw as she raised the small gun in her hand above her head, but they all heard the loud shot of gunfire ricochet off the ceiling. Silence fell, and all eyes flew across the room to her.

Beth stood there firmly, lowering her gun. A defiance blazed furiously in her large blue eyes, and she glanced almost sheepishly as she saw Hershel hobble his way out on his crutches towards her. "I'm sorry daddy," she said quietly and quickly, smiling and lowering her eyes as her father rested a proud hand on her shoulder.

Merle pushed his way off Glenn, letting the younger man's shirt fall from his fist, "Pussy," he sneered, as he turned and let Daryl drag him away in the direction of his cell.

Carol rubbed at her face with both hands, smearing tears across her cheeks. She looked towards Daryl, and saw the sharp little angry nod he gave her, warning her to keep away.

She glanced as she heard Maggie comforting Glenn, saw her tenderly holding his face with both hands on his temples, and she watched sadly as the other woman gave him a small soft kiss to his forehead. Their eyes met, and Maggie smiled wanly at her, before slipping her arm around Glenn's waist, pulling him gently back to their cell.

**...**

Beth and Hershel had both disappeared a little while ago, and Carol was not overly surprised to find herself suddenly alone in the room. She smacked her hand across her forehead, brushing her palm swiftly across the unruly little curls of hair which she felt mildly embarrassed about the fact they they never just sat right. Her hair was a mess, she was a mess, this whole damned situation was a mess, and she bit at her lip sharply, reminding herself _not_ to cry again.

She stepped over to the little kitchen area, idly thinking that she should do something to keep her mind occupied, but not really wanting to be bothered with any sort of domestic duties.

She heard him before she saw him, and she glanced quickly his way.

"Are ya a'right?" Daryl asked softly, pulling up a chair and sitting down, his elbows resting on the table top, watching her.

She smiled tiredly at him, "Yes, I'm fine. It's a relief to be back, despite all of _that_ earlier."

Daryl grunted, "Bet ya glad to be back after bein' stuck out there with that jackass brother of mine." He peered at her through his thick fringe of hair, his eyes glinting, "An' ya sure he didn't do anything? I know what he's like, he ain't never treated any woman with respect... an' ye saw what happened with Glenn."

She knew what had happened with Glenn, and it was the one thing that she tried desperately not to think about. Her heart felt torn and battered, and it ached so badly. "He was fine, Daryl," she said quickly. "I assure you." She couldn't help but feel a small shred of irritation at his words. Everyone seemed hell bent on the fact that Merle had done...something, whatever, and the simple fact of it was, he hadn't. Not to her. _Not even __try__to__ kiss you?_ She immediately felt her cheeks start to flame at the thought, and she pushed herself away, turning from Daryl. "I...I should make a start with dinner, I guess."

He laughed, "Woman, ya always cooking." He pushed his chair from underneath him, and walked over to her, nudging her gently with his elbow. "We did live one whole day without yer mothering, ya know," he whispered conspiratorially at her ear, and she couldn't help but give him a small smirk.

She elbowed him back, and he neatly dodged to the side, saying quickly, "Stop."

Carol turned and laughed, the sound dying on her lips as she saw someone stride through the cell block with Carl, Maggie and Glenn. Someone that she didn't even believe was still alive. _Andrea_. She felt words die uselessly on her tongue, and before she could stop herself, she flew across the room, her arms reaching out for the blonde woman.

Andrea smiled at her, tears shining in her eyes, and she pulled Carol into a warm embrace. The two women hugged for a moment, and Carol felt the words gush out of herself suddenly, "After you saved me...I...I thought you were dead, I'm so sorry Andrea!" Her face was buried in the other woman's soft hair, and she felt tears seep down her cheeks. Andrea rubbed at her back briskly, and gave a small laugh, before stepping back and smiling at her warmly.

"Where's Shane?" Andrea asked, her eyes roaming around the room and glancing at the people suddenly and quietly filing in.

"He didn't make it," Carol answered softly.

"Oh God," She whispered. Her eyes flashed across the room again, "And Lori?"

Carol just shook her head, seeing the sad look as Andrea's eyes slipped to the ground. She watched as Rick moved closer to her, with Daryl at his side, and she felt the urgency to just leave them to it. She didn't want to hear Andrea ask who else was missing. She couldn't bear to hear Sophia's and T-Dog's names being listed amongst the dead, and she didn't want to face the sympathetic look that she knew Andrea would surely award her.

She slipped away from them unnoticed, not seeing Merle as he stepped out of his cell, his eyes darkly watching as she flew up the steps to the perch where Judith lay in her crib.

The little baby was a welcome relief and felt such a soothing balm to her aching heart, and she smoothed the baby's fine hair in her fingers, looking up as she saw Andrea step up the stairs to greet her.

"Lori's?" Andrea asked quietly, pausing before touching at the baby's cheek.

"Yeah," Carol answered softly.

"What's she called?"

"Oh, she was named 'Lil Asskicker', for a while."

Andrea laughed suddenly, "Oh Lord, and I bet I know who named her that, Daryl?" she questioned, her brow raising and her lips pulling up into a smirk.

Carol laughed as well, "For a while yes, but her name is Judith. She's been such a blessing."

"Judith," Andrea mused, stroking the baby's cheek. She pulled her hand back, letting it rest briefly on the metal rail of the perch. "I'm going back, to Woodbury. I have to settle this. I can pull Phillip around. This prison, all of you? You aren't any threat to him-he has to see this."

They both stood silent for a while, listening to the baby gurgling and cooing in the make shift crib.

"There's more at stake than you know," Carol said distantly, leaning next to her on the railing, her eyes cast downwards, past the stairs that lead to the main floor.

Andrea glanced over to where Carol was looking, her eyes widening as she saw where the other woman's gaze suddenly lay. "You got to be kidding me, right?" she said in surprise.

Carol levelled her gaze back to her, her brow furrowed and her mouth drawn into a small tight line. "Just do what you have to have to do Andrea."

"But _him_? Carol, why?"

She shrugged sadly, her eyes lighting again on Andrea's briefly, before tearing away to look at the man stood beneath them with his back to the wall.

Andrea laughed, then smothered her mouth with her hand as she saw the sudden hard look Carol shot her. "Jesus Carol...I'm sorry, I-I didn't know. Merle's always been...well _Merle_."

"I don't _want_ Daryl to lose his brother," she said firmly. "After all they've been through. I don't want anything to happen to _any_ of us. You know what you have to do Andrea. Give that man, the Governor, the best damned night of his life, get him to drop his guard and end it."

"You make it sound so easy Carol," Andrea sighed regretfully, "But it's not the case, nothing is ever easy like that."

"You _can_ do this, you _have_ to." She gave the blonde woman a last lingering look, before turning and heading down the stairs.

"What was that all 'bout?"

Carol glanced as Merle pushed himself off the wall, and walked across to her. She didn't pause, she just wanted to get outside and feel the cool air on her face. Her heart thumped in her chest, and she assumed it was from what she had just told Andrea to do. She had almost shocked herself when she had said it, even though it had seemed to be the right thing to say.

Merle's footsteps matched and followed hers, "Oh yeah, I see it, ya gone deaf again woman. I asked ye a damn question. What'cha say to blondie?"

She reached the door and shoved it open, listening to the light squeal of its rusty hinges. Looking up at him, she replied softly, "I gave Andrea some advice...well a suggestion really. How to put an end to all of this."

He frowned at her, then followed her through the door, stopping to push it shut. "Huh."

"You aren't going to give up, are you?" she laughed a little at the way he raised his eyebrows mildly at her, "I'm not going to tell you Merle, so quit asking." She gestured to a metal bench some feet away from them, in the shade.

"Aint'cha afraid someone gonna see us sittin' together?" he smirked.

"Place like this, people will talk about anything. Human nature." She sat down wearily, "Let them."

He sat next to her, close enough that his knee bumped against hers. "Little mouse gettin' mighty brave."

She smiled wanly at him, before shaking her head. "No, I'm not, not really." It wasn't quite a lie, she didn't feel brave at all, not at this moment with everything going on, and him sat so close to her. She didn't know why, but a part of her had felt compelled to see him, wanted to make sure that he was all right – had _missed_ him even, and she could only guess that they must have some sort of weird comradeship after being lost in the woods. Even so, his presence conflicted her as much now as it did then. She sighed, glancing at him. Andrea was right. Nothing was ever easy, nothing was ever just plain old black and white, it always felt that there were far too many shades of gray.

Merle watched her thoughtfully, before nodding his head slightly. He leaned further into his seat, his arm brushing and then resting against hers, as he shifted his injured arm into his lap, his fingers touching and running across the blade.

"It feels like the quiet before a storm," Carol said softly. He only grunted in answer and she peeked at him again. He looked tired, dark smudges prominent under hooded eyes, the lines in his face more pronounced in the shadows than in the light, and she could see the few wisps of gray in the stubble that covered his cheeks and chin. The fresh band-aid on the bridge of his beaten up nose was already soaked crimson. He turned his head, his smoky eyes widening as he met her gaze, and she bit at her lip as she felt the first hint of a blush color her cheeks. She broke eye contact first, her gaze dragging from his to stare absently at a few walkers straggling in the distance along the fence line. Her breath caught tightly in her throat.

"I should go," she said quickly, moving to get to her feet, stopping as his hand snaked out and caught hers. She looked at him questioningly as he tugged her back down to the seat.

"Can't ya jus' sit quiet with me, jus' for a while longer?" he asked huskily, his eyes darting from hers to the concrete. His mouth had taken on a sullen cast, and she wondered if he had taken her unspoken query as hesitation, or rejection. "Ah hell, if you wanna go, jus' fuck off then. I don't need ya here. I seen how they all look at me, why the hell would _you_ look at me any fuckin' differently," he spat, anger coloring his voice.

She frowned and sat back heavily in the seat, half curious at the fact that her hand was still in his. Uncertainty struck her, and she held her breath as she let her thumb brush casually across the knuckles of his fingers, feeling his grasp stiffen, then relax and catch hold of hers more firmly. "I didn't say I was going Merle."

He turned his head and regarded her silently, and she felt a pang as she saw that he didn't so much as smile, or show any other emotion, other than this tired half glazed look. If she hadn't had known any better, she would have thought he was drugged up-but she knew better than that. He had been clean for a good while now, plus there wasn't anything stronger than codeine at the prison, and Hershel kept that safely monitored at all times. She then realized with a heavy heart that he had the haunted wary look of a beaten dog.

It was then that she remembered Glenn's words from before...ones that she hadn't meant to overhear-an obviously private conversation he'd had with Rick, but the younger man had been so angry he'd almost been spitting out and tripping over the words. He'd wanted to trade Merle off to the Governor, hoping that the action of giving that man his 'traitor' would appease him so much that he would leave the prison group alone. She had felt sick at hearing this, although part of her still couldn't entirely blame him for what Merle had done...but she also knew that sending Merle back to Woodbury would certainly mean his death. She had been gripped by frustration, knowing that if Rick had agreed then at that moment, there wouldn't have been a damned thing she, or anyone else could have done. And now seeing the haunted look that Merle gave her, which scared her a lot more than she possibly thought...she wondered if he'd heard that same damned conversation.

She blinked rapidly against the tears in her eyes, and turned her head away from him, so that he wouldn't see. She knew he hated weakness, he would just get all grumpy and irritable with her, but at this moment, she really didn't think that she could quite cope with that. He must have realized something was wrong though, because his hand was clutching hers more firmly, and she wished then that she had just gone when she had meant to. She hated crying as it was-she had spent too much of her past doing just that.

She heard him call her name, and she glanced down at her lap, shaking his hand away. Raising hers, she swiped at her face, resenting the tears, fearing his reaction. She felt him move against her and his rough fingers caught and lifted her chin, swivelling her head firmly to face him, but she still refused to raise her eyes and look at him.

"Ah hell," he murmured awkwardly, "Shush it sugar. I told ya before that I ain't worth no damned tears, an' shit...I really ain't worth _any_ of yours."

"Well, I'm sorry," she grimaced.

He just grunted at her, and she idly thought that Dixon men seemed to spend a lot of their time doing just _that_, when she felt herself being shoved hard against his chest, his arm sneaking around her shoulders, pushing and holding her there. Her hand flew out and caught at his chest. She swallowed nervously as she felt his heart beat against her palm, her nose buried so deeply into his collar bone, that she could smell the scent of stale sweat and oil clinging to him. His hand came round and smoothed at her hair, his head resting against hers, his lips almost touching the tip of her ear, and she imagined that he give out a small soft sigh, probably in irritation with her, she thought tiredly.

The door squeaked open loudly on rusty hinges, and Carol jumped out of the seat, Merle standing hurriedly alongside her, his hand dropping to the small of her back. Daryl stood there with one hand still on the opened door, his face a mask of confusion.

He paced nearer, frowning. "What ya gone and done now, Merle?" he hissed, glancing at Carol. "Yer a fuckin' asshole, making her cry? That make ya feel big, huh?"

"Didn't do any damned thin', boy," Merle bristled indignantly.

Daryl moved closer to Carol, standing in front of her almost protectively, "I'm warnin' ya Merle," he growled, stabbing his finger out at him.

Carol laid her hand on Daryl's shoulder feeling the muscle bunched tightly under her palm, "Really Daryl, you have this all wrong, I was upset, but it wasn't Merle..." He turned his head to hers, staring into her eyes. "Really," she offered him a small smile, "It wasn't him."

Merle scuffed his boots on the hard ground, his gaze narrow and unflinching. "Told ya, little brother..."

Daryl shook his head at Merle, "I wouldn't put anythin' past ya. Ya dumbass."

Carol glanced up as Glenn stepped suddenly and warily through the door, his eyes squinting in the sun, his gaze dragging uncertainly across where the three of them stood. "It's Andrea. She's going now, back to Woodbury, if you want to say goodbye."

Merle brushed past them, muttering angrily under his breath, and Carol watched as he strode off. She let a pent up sigh escape her, and felt a hand touch gently at her arm. Daryl stood looking at her, his intense blue eyes briefly turning from hers to watch after his brother. He gave her a small grim look, and pulled her with him, chasing after Merle, Glenn following a short distance behind them.

The car was thickly grimed with mud, and Carol watched as Andrea stood there, one hand holding the door open. She wasn't sure what had happened with the blonde woman and Rick, but she saw the saddened anxious look on Andrea's face and the wary grimness on his. She sighed, watching as Andrea got in and pulled the door shut, watching as Rick leaned down to the open window, handing her a gun and knife. She had a feeling that she would never see Andrea again.

Andrea glanced in the drivers rear view mirror, and Carol almost swore she could see the tears brimming in her eyes. She started the engine and drove, only stopping for Merle to unlock and push the rattling gate open. Carol gave one last look as Andrea drove away, feeling a small part of her die as the other woman sped away. She hoped fervently that Andrea would take her words to heart, and finally put an end to all of this.

**...**

Later that night, as dusk fell heavily, shrouding the prison, they all congregated in the cell block. A small camping lantern lit and partly lifted the heavy darkness, and as Carol watched, she saw Beth sit there almost shyly, open her mouth and start to sing. The sad haunting lilt twisted her heart, and she held her arms about her knees, her gaze flickering across to Glenn and Maggie sitting with their arms about each other as they listened to the sweet, sad song.

There was a deep silence as the last notes echoed around the hard concrete walls, and Carol was aware that Merle stood leaning against the wall, not far from where she sat. She looked over at him, trying to read his face, but he was cast in thick shadows, and he turned and padded softly away.

Carol got to her feet, and she walked across to Beth, her hand coming down to softly touch the young girl's shoulder. "That was a beautiful song Beth, thank you," she said earnestly. Beth gave her a shy little smile, which Carol returned, before stiffening up and following after Merle into the shadows.

She hurried up to him, seeing that he had paused to glance over his shoulder at her. She caught at his arm, stepping closer to him. "Where are you going?"

Merle regarded her silently, before reaching out his hand and brushing his knuckles softly against her cheek. "Ye know, listening to that girl sing, the lil blondie, made me realize that things jus' don't sit right with me no more." His hand dropped back to his waist, and he let out a sigh, before walking steadily away from her. "I need to think."

...


	12. Chapter 12

****Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.****

* * *

...

Merle lay on his bunk and groaned loudly, covering his eyes with his arm, wishing that for just another five more goddamned minutes everyone would just shut the hell up. He hadn't slept so well the night before, had listened to every little sound as the prison had slowly wound down and gone to sleep for the night. He had heard the steady thud of Rick's cowboy boots as the man had paced about restlessly, patrolling the floor every few minutes, and at one point he had wanted to rip those damned boots off him and ram them firmly up his ass. Anything to stop that constant irritating clack of his boots.

He rose off his bunk, walking steadily as sounds from the small kitchen area reached him. His eyes flashed narrowly as he took in the occupants of the room, relenting and softening as he saw Daryl sitting there with his back to him. Carol was stood at the small cooking hob, her face peaceful as she mindlessly stirred at a pot that he couldn't quite discern at the contents.

He paced stealthily across the room, pausing to nod at his brother, and press a finger briefly to his lips as he glanced across to the woman that stood there completely oblivious.

Daryl looked up at him, then shook his head, his eyes watching carefully.

Merle found that he just couldn't help himself as he sneaked across and stood silently behind Carol, glancing over her shoulder at the big pan of oatmeal she was stirring slowly. "What the hell is that?" he rasped loudly, smirking to himself as she jumped at the sound of his voice.

"It's breakfast, Merle," she answered, a little too breathlessly. "Keep that attitude up and you can go without."

He stepped away from her and headed off to one of the tables. Daryl was already sat there, chomping his way merrily through a bowl of the gray gruel. "Is that a promise?" he asked sweetly, looking back at her.

She just gave him a smile, her eyes almost sparkling and Merle found that he didn't mind that little look at all. Not one bit. He tore his gaze from hers. "Shove up Darlina," he grunted, pulling up a chair next to his brother. "Ye really eatin' that crap?" he asked quietly, frowning.

Daryl paused, the spoon half way to his mouth, and he glanced sideways at him, nodding. "Is good, man."

Merle huffed in answer, then watched as Carol walked across to where they sat, his eyes dropping briefly to the small amount of curve he could see as her long shirt flapped loosely away from her sides. He was mildly aware that Daryl had dug his elbow into him. "What?" he hissed. "Ain't _you_ ever copped a look?"

"Excuse me?" Carol placed his bowl and spoon in front of him, looking at him with raised brows, her arms crossing over her chest.

"Said compliments to the cook," Merle said smoothly, ignoring the hard glance from his side. He picked his spoon up and dubiously raised a loaded spoonful up to his mouth. "Looks real fuckin' great," he said unenthusiastically.

"Just eat it ya dumbass," Daryl smirked at him, then resumed eating.

A chair was pulled abruptly from across where they sat, and Merle glanced over as he saw Hershel stood there leaning his crutches to the table top while he scooted his body into a chair. "Son, we are grateful for what we have, for what the Good Lord provides us with." Hershel smiled his thanks as Carol stepped over to him, passing him a bowl.

Merle rolled his eyes at that, then felt his arm being pushed at, but he ignored it, instead concentrating on trying to force the warm slimy food down his throat. Daryl nudged him sharply again, and he turned so quickly that he dropped the spoon with a clatter, most of the oatmeal sliding off the spoon on to the table, then into his lap. Merle growled and flicked his brother across the ear with his finger. "What the fuck little brother?"

"Going hunting after, if ya wanna come Merle," Daryl didn't look at him, just placed his spoon back into his empty bowl, and pushed it back across the table.

Merle felt surprised, but didn't let himself show it, "Huh, sure."

Daryl got to his feet, glancing down at him and nodding briefly. "A'right. Have a watch shift now, gonna relieve Maggie and Glenn." He paused, his eyes on Merle, then he quickly picked his crossbow off the floor, shoving the straps across his back as he walked out.

Merle pushed himself abruptly to his feet, the sudden need to be out of the room before Glenn and Maggie came in itching at him strongly. He brushed the sodden oatmeal off his pants irritably, raising his eyes as he heard Rick walk into the room. He didn't really have to look up to know who it was, he'd recognize that damned boot tread in his sleep by now.

"Do you want breakfast, Rick?" Carol asked, and Merle let his eyes drag over to her again, watching as she smiled at the shitty sheriff. Rick just shook his head, and Merle thought that was the first wise thing that man had done. No doubt, oatmeal certainly wasn't something he'd ever enjoyed.

"Merle?" Rick asked suddenly.

The urge just to walk off and completely ignore him was so damned strong, but as he looked up again, his eyes met Carol's and he felt compelled to let his feet just root to the spot. "What?" he answered succinctly.

"We need a hand at the gate, at the fences. We need them cleared of the walkers, and I was hoping that you would help. Carl is at the gate now. I'm sure you wouldn't mind helping him." Rick fixed him with a pointed look.

Merle could see the question in Carol's blue eyes, could see that she was almost urging him to agree. "Whatever," he sighed wearily. It wasn't lost on him at all that Rick had said, 'we need a hand'. Merle wanted to knock him off his feet. Instead he just stared at Rick for a split second longer than was required, before clenching his teeth and walking out of the prison block.

...

"Did you have an accident?" Carl asked as he stepped out into the sunlight. Merle frowned at the boy, then glanced down at himself. He had a small damp patch right at the groin of his pants.

"Very fuckin' funny kid. No I didn't," he grimaced. "Had a fight with Carol's cooking, and it won."

Carl looked at him mildly, his hand reaching up and pushing at the brim of the overly large sheriffs hat sitting on his head. Merle mused that the kid had no sense of humor, chip off the old block and all that shit. "Killed biters before, boy?"

"I'm a good shot, ask my dad," Carl said proudly, resting his hand on the holster at his waist.

"Hell...are ya even old enough to use that?" Merle hissed in surprise. Shit, what was the world coming to when the kid was packing firepower, and he wasn't? "Ain't using no guns, waste of a bullet." He felt a prickle of dread curl in his stomach- he'd nearly repeated word for word what they'd all been taught back in Woodbury all that time ago. He sickeningly wondered how long it would be before he could shake that devil _Philip __f__uckin__'__ Blake _off his back.

"I am old enough. I mean, my mom wasn't very happy when Shane said I could use it."

Merle felt a smile curl at his lips, "Is that right, huh?" Yeah, he bet his mom and Rick hadn't had been so happy with that old dog teaching their son a few new tricks. "Bet'cha miss him, don't ya?"

Carl shook his head, "Not really. He threatened my dad, so I shot him."

Merle nearly tripped over his own feet as he walked over to the gate. "Yer shittin' me kid?" He glanced at Carl and was surprised to see the indifference in the young boys bright eyes. "Huh. Well, jus' you keep that gun stashed. Don't need it anyway. Gonna pig stick these biters."

He watched as Carl pulled a long knife from his belt, and nodded at him curtly before stepping to the gate, rattling it loudly with his hand. He felt a grim satisfaction as a few of the biters turned their heads slowly, their filthy hands reaching out towards them greedily as they lumbered across to the gate. "C'mon ya ugly bitches," he jeered, quickly grinning at Carl, "Ooh, look at that one, looks like she jus' wants a damn good poke from ole Merle." He laughed as the biter thrust its rotting hands at him, before thrusting the blade on his arm swiftly through its eye socket, pulling the blade free with a succulent squelch and spray of sticky blood.

He stabbed at a few more, chuckling as the bodies crashed into tangled moldy heaps on to the ground. He glanced quickly across to Carl noting that he was all right, before turning his head and stabbing at a particularly gruesome biter that was trying to press its heavily decomposed face through the fencing. He stared at it, seeing with distaste that as it pressed nearer, its teeth clacking loudly at him, that he could see strips of its mottled gray skin clinging to the metal of the fence. He tapped at it with his blade, watching as its muddy eyes ignored him, then thrust the blade upwards, straight through its stinking throat, the tip of his blade popping audibly outwards from the top its head. Merle pulled his arm back and huffed at it as he watched the body drop, then with his hand he rattled at the gate, quickly moving as a biter raised its clutching fingers and clawed loosely at the spot where his hand had just been. He stabbed at it, slicing it cleanly through its forehead, and then he smacked his hand loudly on the fence, "Hell yeah!" he spat.

The boy was doing pretty well he thought, as he watched as Carl stabbed at the biters along the fence line. Kid didn't exactly have the same reach as he did, on account of him being, well a snotty nosed brat, but shit yeah, he was doing well enough. Merle jeered at them again, "Ya ugly shits, come and get a taste," before thrusting and stabbing merrily at the undead fuckers.

It wasn't long before they had a reasonable enough body count just beyond the fence and gate, and Merle stepped back and briefly swatted at the sweat on his brow. The kid hadn't had seemed to have worked up as much as a sweat. Slacker, he thought, his own body count was way more.

"Shouldn't we, um..." Carl stood hesitantly, holding his knife loosely in his hand. "I mean, there are walkers now blocking the gates and really we should move them." He turned and looked at Merle, his gaze level, "If the others want to use the cars, the bodies are blocking the way."

"Huh, good point," Merle conceded reluctantly. "Gotta unlock the gate first kid, we'll move 'em out'a the way."

Carl had a bunch of keys in his hand, and he stepped quickly forward, unlocking the padlock. He stood there looking up at him expectantly and waiting.

For a second Merle toyed with the idea of just sending the boy out there, let him finally work up a sweat shifting those bodies, before reason settled begrudgingly in him. "Yeah, yeah, don't get yer pantyhose in a knot, I got this."

The gate wobbled and grated alarmingly, before Carl put his shoulder to it and pushed it open just enough for Merle step through. He watched with narrowed eyes as the kid pushed it back shut, his eyes flickering down to the keys in Carl's hand. The boy just nodded back at him, and Merle sighed as he glanced over at the bodies.

There were about six or seven that were actually blocking the path through the gate, and Merle swept his gaze past them and down over the small field that lay beyond. Biters were straggling and milling about, but they were still a reasonable enough distance away for him to be able to do this. He bent down, grunting mildly as he grasped one dirty decaying foot in his grasp and he dragged it across the ground, his eyes half seeing the bloodied imprint it left behind as he pulled the corpse to the side and out of the way.

He glanced down towards the main gates, his eyes alert for any more of the biters, and he saw that they were still some distance away, and from the seems of it, he'd be lucky enough to clear these out the way long before they even noticed he was there. Dumb fucks, he smiled to himself as he grasped another rotting leg and hauled the body across the ground.

It didn't take that long to move the rest of the corpses out of the way, and he was dimly aware that he was sweating and his hand, arms and chest were now covered in stinky congealed goo. He glanced at Carl, who stood there watching him with the keys in his hand, and for one minute, Merle felt a small thrill spread through him as he wondered if the kid would just go and lock him out there. But Carl stepped quickly to the gate, pulling it open and letting him back through. Merle breathed a small quick silent thanks to whatever gods were listening, wiping the drying blood off his blade onto the leg of his pants as he watched Carl finally pull the gate shut and lock it with the padlock.

"Ya did good, kid," he said, briefly patting the boy on his back.

Carl looked at him, before offering him a small tight lipped smile and a slight incline of his head, before he walked away, pushing the keys into his pocket.

…

Merle stunk. And he was painfully aware of the fact that he reeked to high heaven of sweat and biter gunk. He made his way through the prison, thankful for the dimness and coolness of the interior of the prison as he walked his way through to the shower room. For once, he offered a silent thanks to the fact that officer prick had been diligent enough to actually have cleared this place. And as he pulled his dirty clothes off and stepped underneath the cool water, he actually allowed himself a small smile.

He didn't have any shampoo or any of that other girly smelling shit, but he found he didn't mind so much as the water sluiced his body clean. That was until he remembered that he hadn't thought to ask or find any towels to dry himself off with.

Grumbling he shook himself dry as best as he could, before tugging and pulling his clothes back on over his damp body. It would have been much quicker if he still had the use of two hands, and for the millionth time he raged at the loss of his right fuckin' hand. He would never ask for help, asking for help was for fuckin' pussies, and he was damned if he would. Ever. Period.

Feeling somewhat irritable, he strode from the shower block, not even glancing as he collided solidly and firmly with someone who obviously wasn't paying any goddamned attention to where they were going. His breath was rammed out of his chest at the same time as his arm automatically swept out and caught at the woman, shoving her firmly to him. He glanced down, his feet shuffling over each other as he stopped himself from stumbling, and he grinned widely as he saw it was none other than Carol wrapped up in his arms.

"Hey sugar," he felt his voice almost purr out of his chest, and he coughed a little, feeling mildly embarrassed. She looked up at him in sheer alarm, her eyes widening, before she let herself relax moderately in his arms.

"Merle! I didn't see you," she gasped, and he found that he couldn't help but smirk at her.

"What ya doing down here?" he questioned.

"Oh," she looked down, and he saw a faint pink sheen spread across her cheeks. "I...I was going to do the laundry. Carl and Rick have a habit of leaving their dirty towels in the shower room."

He laughed, "You weren't spying on me now, were ya darlin'?"

Carol placed her hands on his arms and pushed herself away from him. "No, no I wasn't," she answered shortly, shaking her head at him.

"Huh," Merle grunted, "Why ya gotta keep on an' disappointin' me? Shit, if ya wanna look, you don't have to be so sneaky 'bout it. I'd let ya peek."

"Really Merle," she laughed, stepping back another pace. Her eyes met his, and he found that he couldn't quite pull his gaze away from hers. For the second time he thought she really did have the prettiest eyes he'd ever seen. "I heard you were outside the gates with Carl. Are you alright?" her eyes dropped from his, and dragged briefly across his bloodied clothes. "You didn't get scratched or bitten?"

"Naw, I ain't got no bites on me. Not unless ya wanna put some there?" He quirked an eyebrow at her quizzically.

Carol laughed again, shaking her head at him. He shifted a little on his feet, and she looked at him thoughtfully, her voice quiet as she said, "I'm glad you're okay." He thought he could hear a hint of alarm in her voice.

"Ain't none gonna kill Merle except Merle, sweetheart," he rasped softly, "An' I know jus' what a stubborn fucker he is."

"Don't joke about that, Merle," she said suddenly, and he felt his head pull towards hers at the tone of her voice.

He shook his head at her," I ain't." She smiled at him sadly, and he found he couldn't bear to see the earnest little look she shot him.

She paused, her hand reaching hesitantly out and catching at his. Her hand was cool. Her eyes flashed up at his, a brilliant burst of blue, sending unbidden little spikes that sped through his blood. "Don't you ever joke about that, Merle," she repeated quietly, her hand slipping slowly from his. She offered him another small wan smile and Merle found that he couldn't help but stand transfixed from her gaze.

His eyes followed her until she disappeared from his vision. He swallowed thickly then, and turned away.

...


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.**

_a/n: Writers block is a purely evil curse!_

* * *

...

Low voices reached across to him as Merle padded softly across the prison floor. He paused briefly, his eyes low and quickly scanning the room, before pushing his back to the wall, his eyes narrowing as he glanced down the corridor. They hadn't seen or heard him, but he heard them all to well-he'd heard the determination in that asshole sheriffs voice.

He huffed quietly to himself as he heard Rick tell Daryl in a low conspiratorial voice to keep an eye on him, as if Merle actually _needed_ to be fuckin' watched over, and least of all by his _own_ goddamned baby brother. Indignation clawed through him as he heard Daryl agree...as he heard his own blood say; _'__I got him__'__._

He leaned further back into the wall. Huh. So Rick was going on a supply run, and taking the black bitch and his boy with him. It mildly surprised him that Rick would feel comfortable to let his guard down enough to trust her around his precious boy. Even though the kid seemed capable Merle mused, the little shit could handle a gun and a knife well enough. Rick wasn't reckonin' on Michonne though, she was _sneaky, _he'd seen that back at Woodbury. He pursed his lips, wondering what Rick would think if he'd actually seen her and her damned pets, and hell...even that biter-gram as inspired as it was, that she'd left as a message back in the woods.

Lifting his right arm, he cradled his prosthesis against his chest, his fingers running smoothly down the knife, before closing and grasping firmly about the blade. He listened warily to Rick's heavy precise booted tread, heard the soft rubber heeled thump of Hershel's crutches move away before he pushed himself off the wall and stepped out into the corridor. He barely glanced as Daryl looked across, instead focusing on just moving towards the heavy prison outer door.

"Merle," Daryl called out, "Wait up." He watched as Daryl jogged up to him, concern on his face. "What's up, man?"

"Ain't nothin' up," Merle turned and pasted a grin on his face as he met his brothers confused gaze.

"Yeah, sure." Daryl looked him up and down, his hand twiddling at the strap of his crossbow. " 'M going hunting, ya still coming?"

Merle roughly draped his good arm across Daryl's shoulder, pulling him closer, "Wouldn't miss it for the world, little brother."

...

They pushed their way stealthily through the undergrowth, and Merle studied Daryl closely. There was a confidence that he could see, and it hadn't been there before, he was damned sure of it, and Merle felt a pang that the time he had been away from him-his brother had changed.

He wondered just what Daryl had gone through, what exactly had brought these changes, but he half guessed at the answer. It was being with _them_ and not _him_ that had done this. He was now something that Merle couldn't be. He wondered if had the circumstances been different- could _he_ have changed as much. He hurriedly bit the thought down-wasn't nobody that would ever gave the likes of him a chance, and if he was totally honest with himself, he didn't really think he deserved any, anyway. He'd done too many shitty things, and now it was just too late. The only person he'd ever cared for, ever gave a single damn about was his baby brother. He didn't want to fuck up that up again-but fucking things up now was far too ingrained. He'd lose Daryl, he always did.

"Merle," Daryl hissed quietly, gesturing up at the trees.

His voice startled him, and Merle glanced up quickly, nodding his head when he saw the small furry little critter sitting without a care on a large thick branch above their heads. He smiled at Daryl when he saw the bolt swoosh from his brothers crossbow, as the small body fell solidly to the ground, impaled with the dart.

Daryl picked the squirrel up, tugging the bolt from its small body, before stringing it at his waist.

"Old times, baby brother, old times," Merle chuckled suddenly.

Daryl twisted his head and grinned back at him, and Merle felt some small pride well up inside of himself. Little brother always had been a damned good shot. He watched as Daryl fixed another bolt to his crossbow. "Ya know one furry little fuck ain't gonna fix dinner. Hell, that ain't nothin' but a bite!" he cajoled.

Daryl huffed at him, but the small grin was still there for Merle to see.

Pretty soon there were five squirrels strung at his brothers waist, and Daryl let out a sigh of impatience. "Lil fucks are all gone hiding."

"Reckon they gone crying to their mammas," Merle said. "Right now, I bet'cha their warning their furry lil brethren 'bout that big ole fearless squirrel hunter, Darlina Dixon."

The smirk on Daryl's face widened, "Shut the fuck up, man." He glanced behind, indicating with his head, "Got a few snares, rabbits, 'ave to check them 'fore we go-"

Merle spun on his heel as a low moan reached them. "I got this," he called out as he pushed past Daryl, shoving his way heavily through low branches that flipped back at him, stinging and smacking at his legs. His face twisted into a small grimace as he watched the undead asshole trip over the undergrowth in its sudden haste to reach them. He quickly reached his arm out and impaled the biter on his blade, his foot kicking out and knocking it to the ground. He stepped over it, pushing the knife of his prosthesis quickly through its skull.

"'Nother one, Merle," Daryl warned, the bolt singing through the air and landing swiftly and solidly through its forehead with a squishy thump, and Merle conceded it was a damn fine shot as he watched the body tumble heavily to the ground. He stepped forward and with his good hand he tugged the bolt free, wiping it quickly on the leaf debris that littered the ground before handing it back.

Merle watched as Daryl paced through the undergrowth, before finding a fallen tree, and sat on it heavily. He set the crossbow on the ground beside his legs, his feet firmly planted on the ground. Merle went across and sat next to him, watching as Daryl tugged a water bottle from his bag, taking it from him when he was offered, and chugging down a few mouthfuls. He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand and proffered the bottle back. Daryl took a few swigs before he returned the bottle to the depths of his bag.

They sat a while in silence, and Merle glanced about them, listening to the sounds of birds in the distance, the sounds of their boots digging into the soft ground, the slight breeze whispering and rustling leaves in its wake.

Daryl glanced at him through the curtains of his hair, and Merle saw the intense scrutiny his brother awarded him, and he steeled himself against it. "Somethin' eatin' at ya?" Daryl shifted restlessly next to him, and Merle could see the little nervous ticks that his brother would make when he was feeling ill at ease. "You know they're all making a mistake, dont'cha little brother?"

Daryl glanced away, his feet scuffling in the dirt. "Rick's done well by the group so far."

Merle huffed at that. _Yeah, _a_in__'__t that right-shit yeah...Rick always did well by others. Shame he didn't show any damned consideration when he'd been on that fuckin' rooftop hacking his own damn hand off before biters would__'__ve __bust__ their way through that thin __fuckin' __chain that __ha__d__ barred the door._ "He ain't always shown consideration, Daryl. Jus' ya remember that. Left me to die, lost my hand. Not gonna lose my brother to him. Hmm, nope. I've lost enough already."

"You're not losing me," Daryl said quietly. "You just need to make this work Merle. Ya just need ta stop being such a fuckin' ass."

Merle huffed, _fuckin' ass._ "Ain't looking that way to me, Sheriff Rick's got ya tightly by the balls. Leading ya round an' round by them."

Daryl pushed himself of his seat, barely contained anger shimmering, and Merle again wondered at the change in him. "It ain't like that, and ya know it Merle!" he spat. "If it weren't for Rick, I don't reckon half of us would've made it."

"An' I'm telling you, you don't know what the hell yer dealin' with," Merle hissed angrily. "That Governor? Y'all clueless little headless pussy assed chickens where he's concerned. Should make a strike against him now, when he least expects it."

"We're gonna go see him tomorrow, Andrea arranged that meeting, ya know?" Daryl said quietly, "Rick _knows_ what he's doing..."

"Jesus," Merle glanced at him, then shook his head in defeat. Wasn't nobody that was gonna listen to him. "Jus' ya watch your back Daryl. That man's as slippery as a snake. Don't ya never take _no_ chances with him."

"Ain't stupid, Merle," Daryl grunted as he got to his feet. He stood looking at him, before picking his crossbow up off the ground. "Need'a check them snares, c'mon."

"Lead the way, little brother," he said rising stiffly to his feet. "Hope 'em rabbits ain't as reluctant as yer damn squirrels."

"Got five of those little dumb fucks," Daryl smirked, "They weren't so reluctant."

...

They were walking quietly through the woods when Daryl said suddenly, "I seen ya looking at Carol." His voice was low and quiet when he added, "An' I seen her looking back."

"_Huh?"_ Merle felt the air in his lungs suddenly whoosh up and freeze, choking him and he coughed a little trying to free up some air, hoping that Daryl wouldn't notice, that he wouldn't dare look back at him. It didn't help none that his heart had suddenly decided to do an odd little double thump. Shit if the mention of that damned fuckin' woman's name wasn't making him feel flustered and undecided. "_What_ the hell's _that_ supposed to mean 'xactly?" he growled heatedly.

"Just saying is all."

Daryl didn't look at him, just carried on walking in front, and Merle found himself watching his brother with narrowed eyes. He huffed irritably and he couldn't help the childish retort escape him, "Shit...ye want me to look at Rick instead? At that ole man, Hershel? Man, I ain't no fuckin' pansy."

"That ain't what I'm saying, Merle, and ya fuckin' know it." Daryl didn't so much as break a step, although Merle saw that the hand gripping the strap of his bow tightened alarmingly enough that his knuckles glowed white through his tanned and dirt grimed hand.

"Hell, I don't know what's going on in that head of yours, little brother. Imagining all sorts of shit," Merle spat.

His brothers voice was firm and unrelenting. "I won't let her get hurt. I know what your like."

"Aint nobody gonna get hurt. Fuck, Daryl, what ya take me for?" He couldn't help but feel a little indignant at that.

"Keep it that way," Daryl glanced over his shoulder at him, and shook his head.

They walked a little further in an uneasy silence, and Merle noticed that now they weren't that far from the prison. He supposed that the snares had been set closer to home so that they'd be easier to keep a check on. He couldn't help but feel a rising panic and a little surprise wash over him at what his brother had said. He needed more time to think... He sighed tiredly, feeling half angry at himself as he couldn't stop the pathetic little swell of hope rise in his chest. _For Christ's sake_ he thought angrily. He needed to avoid her, and he decided that from now on, every opportunity, he would show her _exactly_ what he was. That should push her away, keep her away from him. He didn't need this crap, women were just objects to be used whenever the mutual desire took-it always used to be that way. Was always _easier_ that way. No strings attached and better still, no-one ever really ever got hurt. Who the _fuck_ _exactly_ needed _feelings_ and fuckin' shit like that anyways?

But..._what_ if she'd been looking at him like that...what if-

"Shit!" Daryl hissed, and Merle felt startled for the second time in one day. What the _hell_ was wrong with him?

Daryl was stooped down, his hands pawing through the dirt. He held up a piece of looped wire and dropped it back down in disgust. "Snares empty. Second one now, goddamn it." He got back to his feet, pushing his knife back into his belt. "Squirrel gonna have to do."

"Should get back to the prison Darlina, the lights gettin' against us," Merle said glancing at the darkening skyline.

Daryl rubbed his arm against his forehead, leaving a grimy trail across his damp skin. He sighed heavily, "When we get back...you _know_ what ya gotta do Merle. You need ta apologize to Maggie, to Glenn-ya _need_ ta make things right with them. If ya wanna stay with us at the prison, you need'a make an effort, brother."

"An' what the hell do ya think I been doin'?" Merle hissed, "I'll tell ya somethin', I don't owe Maggie and that chink kid nothin'...least of all a goddamned fuckin' _apology_."

Daryl sighed again softly, and Merle wasn't so stupid that he couldn't help but hear the hurt in his voice. "I just want my brother back, Merle."

…

It was dark when they got back, and as they got to the gate, Merle saw with some sourness that Maggie was there. She gave him a quick snort and a dismissive glance, turning instead to Daryl and offering him a small smile, and Merle felt a surge of resentment. No matter what the fuck he did, it never seemed to make a difference. He thought on his brothers words, _apologize to Maggie and Glenn_...and instantly rejected it. _Like fuck_. All Kim Chi had to do was just tell him where his brother was, instead he'd had to drag their sorry asses back to Woodbury, 'cause of orders of that asshole Philip. Shit-he couldn't change what had happened even if he'd _wanted_ too.

Merle stood stock still as he saw that Daryl had walked a few paces ahead of him, and he couldn't help but feel desperation settle uneasily in himself. He watched his brother as he paused, glancing over his shoulder back at him. Merle felt something twist in his gut at the pained look on his brothers face."Daryl," he rasped quietly.

Daryl turned to face him and warily edged a few paces nearer, watching him with all seeing eyes that didn't seem to so much as blink. "What?" he said tersely.

Merle looked at him for a while, then hung his head, "I'm trying brother, I'm tryin'," he answered softly.

Daryl nodded, glancing quickly at him and then back at the ground. He gave a soft little grunt of understanding. "I know, man." Then he turned away from Merle, and walked steadily back to the prison, back to C-block and to the others.

...


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.**

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_..._

Carol sat at the table, her hands flattened and resting loosely across each other. Quiet times at the prison were always a rarity, and she savored this small moment for what it truly was. Quiet, almost peaceful... but she knew that was a lie, there could never be any peace while the Governor threatened their lives and way of life. She hated the fact that people could be an even worse threat than what they had to face every single day. But again she reminded herself, human nature was an even bigger monster simply because there was always a conscious decision behind every action, unlike the mindlessness of walkers whose one single driven aim was purely to consume. She closed her eyes briefly, wondering if Andrea had done as she had suggested, but as time dragged on, she felt ever more doubtful.

The sound of boots shuffling on the dusty floor caught her attention, and raising her head she stared across at Michonne, who just sat there watching her quietly. Carol smiled at her, but the woman didn't return the gesture, only continued staring at her with those dark guarded eyes that seemed to observe everything with a quiet defiance.

The day before, Rick had gone on a run, and Carol had been curious at the fact that he had taken Michonne and Carl with him, although she supposed, it had more to do with Merle than anything. She shook her head, it seemed no matter what that man did, it always ended badly, always seemed to end in a fight.

Rick had come back with a substantial amount of fire power, and even more surprisingly, a new cot for the baby, as well as a good amount of loot. Carl had come back with an old photo in a dusty frame, and she had been teary-eyed when she had seen the youthful Lori in the picture, and at the thoughtfulness the young boy had for his baby sister. Michonne had come back with a gaudy brightly colored paper mache cat, which seemed incongruously at odds with the dark brooding woman.

Carol glanced up and felt her heart lurch suddenly in her chest as she watched as Merle stepped out of his cell, his eyes catching hers as he walked towards her. Mentally she rolled her eyes at herself, she was starting to feel ridiculous. But she couldn't help but feel the small heady thrill run through her as he stood near, his hand catching out and dragging a chair loudly, before falling heavily into the seat.

His shoulder brushed roughly against hers and she peeked up at him, catching him staring back at her, and she couldn't help the small smile form on her mouth. He didn't smile back, just stared right at her, then he dismissed her with a small curt nod.

Michonne was behind them, sitting on one of the tables, one foot now resting on a chair. Carol noticed Merle was deliberately ignoring the dark skinned woman, and she caught the slight narrowing of Michonne's eyes as she continued her silent vigil, her dark eyes flickering over the both of them.

"Michonne," Merle rasped suddenly, turning in his seat to face her. "You ain't never said how you an' blondie kept oh so warm on those long, long cold lonely nights in them woods. Did she snuggle up all tight an' close to yer soft warm ebony skin?" He tutted loudly,"Your holding out on me, Michonne. I bet she was a damn fine screw. Mhm. Or your heart too cold for some good ole fashion lovin'?"

Michonne pushed herself off the table and strode purposefully across the floor, her boots thudding dully. She paused, looking at Merle, her gloved hand resting on her katana, her fingers stroking and tapping the shiny blade. "You're a pig," she spat at him, before slowly pulling her eyes from his and walking out of the room.

Merle glanced at Carol and raised an eyebrow, "Got a way with words, ain't I?" he scowled.

"That wasn't necessary Merle," she admonished him, and she was surprised to see the sudden hot glare he shot back at her.

"Tell it to someone who gives a shit, sister. Yer preachin' to the unconverted," he retorted.

She looked at him in concern, seeing that he had turned from her, the sullen look harsh on his face, and she couldn't help but feel sad for him. He had been through so much that he would resort to crudeness and anger as a defense. She reached her hand out and placed it gently on his arm, feeling him flinch at the contact, and she was surprised that as annoyed as he seemed, he didn't pull away from her.

"Carol?" She glanced up as Beth stood before them, her wide blue eyes darting from her to Merle. "I've come to help with the laundry."

"Thank you Beth," she said, pushing herself from her seat, and stepping towards the young girl. She looked back at Merle, and was startled when he raised his eyes to hers and held her gaze firmly. His eyes flickered across her, then narrowed, and he hesitated before shoving himself out of his seat muttering 'got shit to do' before exiting hurriedly out of the room.

...

It wasn't for the first time that she thought with some irony, that they were sat here scrubbing dirty clothes in large buckets surrounded by the large industrial washing machines, that now in this new modern sense of the word, were totally obsolete. She wistfully thought back to all the things that they had taken for granted back before the turn. Simple things that didn't really merit much thought-it was there, you used it, you took it for granted, until you didn't have it anymore.

She was scrubbing hard at a particular stubborn stain in the knee of Daryl's pants, and she thought if she scrubbed it anymore, the material would practically dissolve in her hands. All their clothing was worn and getting badly threadbare, and the rough nature of having to wash everything by hand was taking its toll on all their clothing. She sighed, letting the pants slide out of her hands back into the bucket, and she brushed her hand over hear forehead, leaving a soapy smear.

Beth was sat next to her, one of Hershel's shirts soaking in the bucket at her feet, and as Carol looked at her, Beth gave her a small wistful smile. "Daddy always said idle hands are the devil's tools, but I don't think he reckoned on this."

Carol laughed and gazed across at the obsolete washers, "What I would give for one of those washers to actually work."

"Oh me too," Beth glanced across the dirty pile of laundry, "Maggie should be here, I mean, Glenn's stuff is worse that daddy's." She pushed her hand into the soapy water and pulled the shirt out, it was once recognizably white, but now had a more gray like hue. "If that's possible," she said raising an eyebrow at the shirt.

Carol snorted softly and shook her head, before thrusting her hands back into the bucket and scrubbing at the pants. She wondered just how Daryl's clothing always seemed to be that little bit more grubbier than everyone else, but she knew. He always put himself first, put himself to the front of any danger that faced the group as a whole, and not for the first time, she wondered if he knew just how invaluable he was too the group, how much he was cared for.

"I don't think he's as bad as they make out ya know. I mean he is Daryl's brother, and Daryl's always done well by us all," Beth said suddenly, breaking the reverie Carol had slipped into.

She glanced quickly at her, frowning, "Merle?"

Beth nodded, "Yeah. He's just rougher than Daryl is. I know what happened to Maggie and Glenn, and I can't accept what he did, but he had to have had a good reason to do it."

"I don't think the others see it that way." Carol sighed sadly, "All they remember is what he used to be. They can't see what he is trying to do now." She stood up stiffly, pacing over to where a pile of fresh folded clothing lay, wiping her wet hands on the legs of her pants. "I'm going to take these...god knows Daryl could do with a change of clothing, Merle too." She remembered just how filthy and blood grimed he had been at the shower room, and her heart pounded a little at the memory.

"Carol?" Beth called, getting to her feet and stepping hesitantly over to her. "I'm sure everythin' will be alright, I know you worry about us."

"I hope you're right Beth," Carol rested her hand on the girls shoulder and gave her a small squeeze of gratitude.

…

Carol lay on her bunk flicking through the paperback that Maggie had given what seemed so long ago. She couldn't concentrate on the words, her mind wouldn't switch off and it was frustrating her. She supposed the long wait for the others to come back from the arranged meeting with the Governor was taking its toll, the anxiousness that threatened to squeeze the very breath from her giving way to a numbing sense of hopelessness. She just wished that they were back, and then they'd know what they were dealing with. Bitterly she knew if Andrea hadn't been able to...to take care of _business_, then she didn't have much hope that Rick would be able to achieve anything either. Lately he seemed erratic-she had seen him a few times muttering to himself while staring blankly at empty space. Mentally she berated herself, feeling a little ashamed that she was _even _thinking it-but she couldn't help but wonder if Rick was even capable of dealing with things. But it seemed both Hershel and Daryl were firmly supporting him, and she guessed that was the very reason he had taken them both with him.

Loud voices reached up all the way across the hall and to her cell and she sat up quickly, the book sliding out of her hand and falling to the floor. Quickly she pushed herself off her bunk and raced out of the small room, her body prickling with alarm as she heard the high antagonized yelp of Glenn's voice and Maggie's shrill cry, and she could only guess at the cause of it all, Merle. She was absolutely damned if there was going to be another repeat of what had happened before.

Tables were strewn with all manner of weaponry-knives, bayonets, high powered rifles, shotguns, boxes and boxes of ammo, but that wasn't what caught her eye. Glenn was laying on the ground, his fists flying with Merle sitting astride him, while Maggie was draped awkwardly across Merle's back with her arm against his throat, his head yanked up high, holding him tight in a strangle hold.

Carol looked helplessly at Michonne, who just stood there watching, and she felt startled to see the start of a small smile grace the other woman's full lips.

Angrily she raced across, her hand grabbing at Maggie's arm, trying to pull her away, "Maggie, just you let him go," she cried.

"He started this," Maggie spat, "It's always _him_." She tightened her grip on Merle and glared at Carol over her shoulder angrily.

"Let me fuckin' go," Merle hissed, his breath whistling in his throat.

"This doesn't achieve anything," Carol said, anger starting to rise in herself. She reached down and grabbed firmly at the younger woman's clothing, pulling and eventually managing to tug her away with a strength and determination she was dimly aware that she had. She watched as Merle shoved at Glenn, before rising slowly to his feet. His hand rubbed at his neck, and he shot Maggie an intense little look of pure fury.

"Y'all missing this goddamned chance," he rasped, "Fuckin' fools."

Glenn pushed himself up, half sitting, half kneeling on the dirty floor. "I told you Merle, this was _my _call to make, not yours."

Merle shouted angrily, "In case y'all forgotten, it's my brother out there. I ain't sitting on no goddamned sidelines, doing nothin' while he is out there! What's the matter with y'all?"

"I'm not going to let you go and jeopardize anything, Merle. Not taking the risk that they could get caught in the crossfire. So yes, my call," Glenn answered heatedly.

"He isn't one of us," Maggie said abruptly, her hand on Glenn's arm as she helped him to his feet. Her eyes flashed passionately, "He don't belong here anyways, not with us, not with _our _group."

Carol froze, her eyes fixed firmly on Merle. She watched as his shoulders stiffened and saw his hand clench into a fist. Anger and hurt for him flowed through her as she watched him walk stiffly across to his cell. She felt the breath grow tight in her chest, and she turned around slowly, walking steadily towards the younger woman. "In case you have forgotten Maggie, he is Daryl's brother, so yes, he does belong here in this group. And while you may not be happy with this arrangement, Daryl is." She eyed Maggie and Glenn almost distastefully. "All of you...you should be ashamed of yourselves. There wasn't one of us that gave him any damn thought or consideration after he was left to die on that rooftop. Not one of us gave a thought to what he had to do to survive. Nobody gave any consideration to Daryl...his brother. So yes, he does belong here, he has every right..."

"He _beat me _and threw a walker at me," Glenn seethed, "He let a man almost brutalize Maggie. I don't care what happens to me, but I do care what happens to her!"

"Merle lost his hand, so do you think you are remotely even, Glenn, Maggie?" Carol questioned, shaking her head. "If you can't get along or accept him...or hell, even try and forgive what he has done, then don't do it for him, do it for Daryl."

"I don't know why you're wasting so much of your time on him anyway, Carol," Maggie said petulantly.

"People need people to survive in this world. Isn't that what we say? He only has his brother so it's about time somebody else gave a damn about him." Carol saw that Glenn's gaze was downcast, his eyes blinking rapidly, and she felt a grim little satisfaction at that.

Tiredly, she turned on her heel, not bothering to give them a second glance, before she paced across to Merle's cell. She stood leaning in at the doorway, watching him quietly as he sat on his bunk with his head hanging down. She wanted to reach out to him, but she felt wary of the anger that still simmered in him. Taking a deep breath, she said, "You heard that?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I did. I heard enough."

"They were wrong..."

"Look...I don't want yer fuckin' pity, and I don't need ya to fight my goddamned battles for me," he said angrily, raising his head abruptly to look at her.

Carol crossed her arms and pursed her lips tightly. She met his gaze unblinkingly, "Daryl needs you, Merle," she said softly.

"No." He laughed bitterly, "Don't know that no more. They're right ya know. I don't fit here. Daryl does, I've seen how he is with them, who he is now. He's changed. He takes his orders off Rick, I've seen where his loyalties are."

"He's your brother, and he cares for you. He cares what happens to you."

"Always has been my first concern, my little brother. That ain't gonna change anytime soon, darlin'." He looked away from her, letting the breath sigh out of his mouth quietly. "Wasn't always the case. I tried, I looked after him best damned way I could, but I always let him down. Shit," he spat tiredly.

He had that beat down haunted look again, and she found she couldn't bear to see those dark shadows sweep across his eyes. "You're here now, and that has to count," she said gently.

"Ain't got nowhere else to go," he replied bitterly."My past record with Daryl ain't never been a shining fuckin' example. Left him too many times than I can count. Could never stay, not even for him."

"Change then, do it for him," she insisted quietly.

Merle growled irritably, "Lady, I'm too old to change, what's the damn point?"

"There's every point Merle. You of all people should realize that."

"Ain't you got some place to go, woman? Others to annoy?" He sat back heavily, leaning into the wall. "Can't I get any fuckin' peace?" he spat.

The distant sound of people in the main room, of feet shuffling about and the low hum of activity from others as they bustled around reached her ears, and she swore she had just heard Rick's voice echo in the room beyond.

She turned tersely to Merle. "Fine," she hissed back at him, as she moved from his cell and stepped into the main room. Daryl looked across to her as he heard the sound of her boots, and she offered him a small tired smile as she went and stood next to him, leaning against the wall.

"Are you okay?" She whispered close to him. "How did it go?"

" 'M fine, but this ain't gonna go down well," he said, inclining his head at the others.

She glanced around the room, seeing that Merle had followed her, and was now stood some distance away, standing just behind Carl. His eyes caught hers and she glanced quickly away, turning her head and letting her gaze settle on the former sheriff.

Rick's glare was demanding and earnest as his eyes swept across the room. "So, I met with this Governor." His voice broke heavily through the silence, and everyone's gaze turned and met his. "I sat with him for quite a while."

"Jus' the two of you?" Merle's voice was low and insistent, and Carol couldn't help but look across at him.

"Yeah." Rick glanced at the floor, his eyes almost pained before glancing across at them again. "He wants the prison. He wants us gone. He wants us dead for what we did to Woodbury." He shuffled briefly on his feet. "We're going to war."

Silence fell over the group again, and she watched as Rick turned on his heel and stomped away from them, his booted tread heavy and echoing. Carl followed after him, and Carol sighed, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.

"Told ya, didn't I?" Daryl murmured.

She looked at him and he stared back, his eyes peeking brightly beneath his fringe. "What does this man want, the Governor?"

Daryl shook his head, glancing away from her and biting at his lip. He paused before answering tersely, "He wants Michonne."

"What?" Carol almost laughed, but she saw the seriousness in the way that Daryl stood stiffly next to her. "Give him Michonne, and he will leave the rest of us alone?"

"Mhm," he grunted.

"That's not going to happen, right? We can't do that. The man's a sadist, he will kill her, Daryl."

Daryl shrugged, "I ain't exactly happy 'bout it either, but is all we can do. Rick's got a plan-he'll know what has to be done."

Carol slumped wearily against the wall, disbelief flowing through her, and as she glanced away from Daryl she saw Michonne turn her back and leave the room. It didn't matter who she was, they couldn't do this.

It wasn't right.

...


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.**

_a/n: I'd just like to thank everyone for the reviews/follows and favorites, as always they mean a great deal. _

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...

Early morning brought thin rays of pale sunlight and a discernible chill, and as Carol stepped out into the courtyard, she cradled the cup of steaming coffee tightly to herself. Daryl was taking his shift in the tower, and she knew that he would welcome the hot drink. Coffee was a scarce commodity, and she silently thanked Rick and Michonne for finding the precious little amount that they'd found on their run.

She hadn't slept well, the thought of Michonne playing largely in her mind after what Daryl had said the night before. And even though the dark skinned woman hadn't spoken much to anyone-she knew what Rick had proposed was just so very _wrong_.

Pursing her lips tightly at the thought, she climbed the steps to the watch tower, a little smile playing about her lips as she saw Daryl stood leaning against the railings. He turned to her, giving her a small smile.

"What ya got there?" he questioned, raising an eyebrow at her.

Carol smiled at him, "Coffee. I thought you could do with it after your long shift."

Daryl stepped over to her, and she passed the cup over to him, watching as he gripped it with both hands, lifting it to his nose and inhaling the bitter aroma through a small puff of steam. "Sorry," she apologized, "It's black, no sugar."

"Is fine," he took a tentative sip from the cup.

"Thought you'd like it black and strong," she said, leaning against the railing next to him.

Daryl coughed suddenly, pulling the cup from his mouth. He turned his head slightly to face her, "Stop."

Carol smirked back at him, then glanced across the courtyard, her eyebrows raising as she saw Rick walking along the fence line. "How long has he been out here?"

"Dunno," Daryl said softly, "A while, I guess." He shook his head, then spoke so quietly that Carol had to prick her ears to catch his words. "That Governor's got him rattled, but he wont admit it. He keeps checkin' them damn fences. I doubt anything gonna get past, but he keeps on checkin'."

"Is he still...going to hand Michonne over?"

She saw the dark look chase across his eyes, saw the reluctance hidden there. "I guess," he said tightly. "He's got a plan, but I dunno if he gonna go through with it. Can never tell with him."

Carol sighed, "Hmm."

"Deadlines noon tomorrow. Summat's gotta go down, but shit if I know," Daryl took a long swig of his drink, "Coffee's good, thanks."

She smiled back at him, "You're welcome."

"Ya know, Rick had that rationed," Daryl said before draining the drink, and placing the empty cup on the floor behind him, swatting one hand over his mouth. "I dunno how you smuggled that past him."

"Call it...feminine wiles," she grinned suddenly. "Besides, what Rick doesn't know, doesn't hurt him, and you are far more deserving of a cup-it's chilly out here."

Daryl snorted softly, "Feminine wiles. Didn't see ya go take him a hot cup of java."

She smiled at him brightly, "Maybe he isn't one of my favorites," she shrugged mildly, seeing the slight blush tint his cheeks, "Oh I know, _stop_," she chided.

"Quiet, woman," he smirked, standing close to her and nudging her arm with his elbow.

Carol leaned over the railing, watching Rick as he paced relentlessly. "It's wrong Daryl," she said sadly, "This...it's all wrong."

"I know," he murmured, "What else can we do?"

She thought about it reluctantly, "We could go, leave the prison. I don't think all of this is worth it." She turned to him unhappily, "It's not worth one more single life. We've lost so much getting here Daryl. I don't want anyone else to...die...for this," she gestured at the prison grounds with one hand, "It just isn't worth it."

"It's home," Daryl rasped.

She bit back a sad laugh, "It wasn't so long ago that you called this place our tombs."

"Things change," he said leaning at the railings next to her. He turned his head slowly towards her, his eyes fixing firmly on hers. He bit at his lip hesitantly, "We're about out of options, and the group...I know man," he sighed slowly, "The group needs a fixed place to call 'home'. Lil ass-kicker needs ta grow a lil...can't risk her, no way," he murmured, dragging his eyes from hers to stare fixedly at the fence line. "What chance she gonna have out there, right now? What chance Hershel got-with just one damned leg? Is too much to risk on the road, out there in the open."

Carol leaned on the railings, feeling the cool chill of the metal seep into her skin. She glanced down at the yard, her breath catching as she saw Merle push the outer door open and step out into the courtyard. He headed straight for the gate, and she watched as he paused there, saw him glancing at the walkers straggling at the fences.

"Merle," Daryl grunted next to her.

She watched as Rick completed his lap of the fence line, saw him stop and stare rigidly at Merle, before moving hurriedly closer, his one hand hovering above the holster at his waist. She shook her head, unaware that Daryl was watching her. Her eyes narrowed as she watched Rick step closer to Merle, and she struggled to hear what he said, only catching the words, '_need to talk to you__'_...and _'we need your help'__. _To her alarm, she watched as Merle followed Rick back into the prison.

She turned to Daryl in confusion, "What does Rick want?" He was watching them below intently, and she felt a sudden despair seep chillingly through her. "Daryl?"

He turned his head towards hers, his eyes hooded, not meeting the intense gaze she shot at him, "Is nothin'. I'm tellin' ya, it's nothin'. Shit Carol, Rick's got this sorted, he knows what he's doing-he always does."

"What about Merle, what's he got to do with anything?"

Daryl shrugged, "He was the inside man, Rick just wants his advice is all, I reckon." He turned away from her quickly, but not before she glimpsed the unhappiness etched hard on his face.

"Maybe," she agreed reluctantly.

Daryl leaned further on the railings, his hands fidgeting across the metal, his grip suddenly firm. He paused a while, before staring at her crookedly, his eyes peeking at her from beneath his fringe. "Is... there somethin' going on with ya? I mean, you and my brother?"

She felt the breath choke up inside herself, and for a while she couldn't answer him. The thought terrified her. As she glanced at him, she read the earnest question in his eyes, and she knew that he deserved an honest answer, but the best that she could give him was, "I don't know. Honestly Daryl, I don't know."

He huffed a little, then let a long sigh escape him. "I know. I think I've known for a while, I've seen ya lookin' at him. I've seen him lookin' at ya too. The fuckin' charismatic asshole." Daryl turned abruptly, his hand sneaking out suddenly and grasping her about the wrist, gently pulling her so that she faced him."Told ya before...he ain't never got no respect for any woman, never wanted anythin' more from 'em than just ta fuck 'em." His eyes met hers, and he relented a little, begrudgingly. "But I seen the way he is with ya, and I ain't never seen that before, not with him, not with no woman."

"There's nothing going on Daryl," she replied firmly. "Nothing's happened."

He shifted restlessly on his feet, glancing at her, then looking away. "Do ya care for him?" he asked suddenly.

"I care for all of you," she said unhappily. "I always have done."

"That ain't what I was asking."

"He's your brother, he's part of this group now too." She raised her hand and smoothed at her hair, feeling an awkwardness that she had never really felt before with him.

Daryl stood back from her, but his hand still held her wrist firmly. His gaze was fixed on the ground between them. "I trust ya more than I ever trusted anyone before Carol. And I'm asking if ya care, 'cause I reckon Merle is 'bout gonna go do summat fuckin' stupid, and-" his voice broke a little and was suddenly harsh, and she swore she felt her heart break at the sound. "I know I ain't never asked for help with him before, and I know I ain't never gonna ask again. But, if ya think anythin' 'bout him, stop him."

"I don't know what is going on Daryl. I don't know what is happening with Rick and Merle, and even if I did, I'm not so sure I could help you." She knew that helping Daryl would just be admitting to something that she wasn't sure she could admit to herself. "Why do you even think he would listen to me?" she grimaced at the pleading she thought she could hear in her voice.

Daryl looked at her, his eyes boring into hers heatedly. "I can't lose him Carol, ya have ta understand. I can't. I ain't gonna lose my brother all over again."

"Is there something I don't know about?" she asked fearfully, her breath catching and twisting in her throat.

Daryl shook his head, almost regretfully, and he edged carefully away from her, stooping down to pick the cup of the floor. He shoved it at her, blinking rapidly through his heavy fringe of hair, "Thanks for the coffee."

Carol pursed her lips and stared back at him, but as she looked into his eyes, she could see the guarded edge there, and she knew that he had effectively shut himself off from her, and no amount of prying would push him to tell her anything, in fact the opposite. He would just retreat back into himself. She sighed and took the cup from him, reaching out and catching his arm in her hand. She gave him a little squeeze, and was rewarded with a minute upturn of his lips.

She let his arm go, and reluctantly moved away from him, one hand gripping the railings that lined the stairs. She stopped momentarily, glancing over her shoulder to look at him again, seeing that he had turned his back to her, then she paced restlessly back across the courtyard and back into the prison.

She was thankful for the coolness of the interior and more than thankful that nobody was there as she sat wearily at one of the tables, leaning her elbows on the hard table top. Stifling back hot tears, she bowed her head into her hands and closed her eyes to the heaviness in her heart.

...

The sun was higher in the sky, and the chill of the morning was nothing more than a distant faded memory. The prison had woken up a few hours previously, and was now an industrious hive of activity.

Daryl and Glenn, with Michonne's help had added a few extra defensive barriers to the fences, and had constructed planks of wood with barbed wire coiled thickly around, sharp and lethal enough to puncture any tires should the Governor again try that tactic of driving another vehicle at them through the gates, another van full of walkers. Carol mused that from what she had heard of him, he would be fairly stupid to attempt that again-as Merle had said before, that trick had just been the Governor ringing the damned doorbell. He would attempt something different, but Carol thought that it didn't pay to be unprepared. If anything, it could be enough to buy them a little time, even though she wondered fearfully, time for _what_ exactly? They were outnumbered and outgunned, Woodbury was well equipped with a lot more able bodies and firepower than what they had.

The baby grumbled in her arms, and she looked down at her, smiling softly. She couldn't help but smile at the baby, Judith was a constant little miracle, and she knew that they were all thankful for her and for what she represented to the group as a whole.

She shifted the baby on to her hip, and raised her hand momentarily to shield her eyes from the sun, squinting across to the outer field-the field that had once been theirs, but was now a no man's land of torn fences and walkers. The truck was out there; she could see Beth sat at the wheel waiting, Michonne striding determinedly, her katana arcing now and again, felling walkers with one bloodied sweep, little glints of light flashing off her bright blade, Daryl and Glenn dragging the defenses and laying them on the ground. She dragged her gaze from the field to the fences; Maggie and Carl were bashing pots and pans from the kitchen, the sound attracting and luring the walkers from the others in the field.

The baby wriggled against her, and she cooed quietly to the baby, shifting her more firmly to herself, cradling her against her chest. She lowered her head and softly kissed her head, the baby's fine hair tickling at her nose with its own exquisite unique scent.

"I swear she is growing every single day."

Carol glanced to her side and smiled as Hershel hobbled near to her. He adjusted his crutches, taking the weight on one, and he reached his hand across and smoothed at Judith's soft hair with his fingertips.

"She's been a blessing to us all," he said smiling.

"She is," she agreed. "How are Maggie and Glenn?" She felt a reluctance in asking, but she wanted to know, she hated seeing the distance they had put between themselves since Woodbury.

He pursed his lips tightly, glancing across at his oldest daughter as she called out loudly to the walkers at the fence line. "They are getting there," he sighed quietly. "They've been through a lot, they need time to adjust, to consider. Glenn can be a little impulsive where Maggie is concerned, but I am under no illusion that he has her best interests at heart, and I can't ask for more than that. He cares for her, he wants to protect her, but he can be hot-headed. Just like Merle," Hershel turned his head, his eyes holding hers.

Carol met his gaze and nodded, resting her chin lightly on the top of the baby's head.

"I've seen what you are doing with him. The others are not so generous in their thinking, and I have to be honest, for a while I wasn't either. But he seems to be making an effort with us, with the group as a whole."

"It hasn't been easy for him," she sighed. "I won't excuse what he has done. I know all to well."

Hershel shook his head mildly, "No. I don't doubt that it hasn't been easy for him. His actions have caused a lot of hostility. He has to earn his place here, and I fear the others will withhold their judgment on him until he does. He is Daryl's blood, and his loyalty to his brother is without question, but it has to be more than that, and I know you see this."

Carol clutched the baby tighter to her. Hershel was right of course, she knew, she could see what he was saying. Her heart twisted a little. She wanted him _so badly_ to make things work, as much for Daryl as for herself. She felt her cheeks flame a little at the thought, and wondered if she seemed foolhardy and presumptuous. But as much as she tried to stave of the feeling-it was there, and she couldn't hide from it.

"Merle could be an asset to the group. He has military expertise, he is strong, wilful, formidable, and I have no doubt that given the right nurturing, he could grow to be invaluable member of the group, just like his brother. Don't give up on him Carol." Hershel held her gaze for a moment, then he looked away as Maggie caught his eye. She lifted one hand and waved at him. He shifted his crutches more firmly under his arms. "Daughters. No matter how old they are, it is always good to know that they still need their father," He smiled distantly at her, then hobbled his way slowly over to where Maggie was stood waiting for him.

...

_The large barn door gaped open like a hungry blackened mouth, and she watched in rapt fear as a small grubby figure shuffled slowly into the light on stumbling twisting feet. Filthy hair whipped about as the head twisted towards her, yellowed unblinking unseeing eyes settling on her, marking her as the small girl shambled nearer. The scent was caught, nostrils flaring with hunger, and the loose- limbed gait shuffled ever quicker, the soft thump of sneakered feet whispering eagerly in the gritty earth. Arms raised as if wanting to embrace her, to hug and comfort her, and this time she welcomed them, welcomed those arms as they gripped hers, welcomed the ragged nails as they tore at the soft flesh of her arms. Sophia raised her head, flashing mud grimed broken teeth, and she pulled her little girl tightly into her embrace, she felt the dank fetid cold breath on her neck, heard those terrible teeth snapping closer and closer..._

Carol sat up suddenly, unaware of her surroundings as the remnants of her dream slipped away. Tears formed thickly in her eyes, and she tried to choke back the racking sobs that threatened to escape her. Her eyes darted unseeingly around the small room, her one hand grasping tightly at the edge of the metal that was her cot. Everything else paled away, and she could only focus on her daughter's words, words that she dreamed almost every single time she closed her eyes. '_Why did you leave me __to die __Mommy?__'_ It was all too unreal, and she closed her eyes to the sound of her own harsh ragged breathing, wishing for eternity that things could have been so very different.

Slowly she willed her eyes to open, letting her gaze steady and focus on the dull gray concrete that was her room. The small light from the moon partially lit her cell, although it could do nothing to penetrate the darkness in her heart. She sat up, one hand wiping at her eyes, collecting the tears and smothering them to her chest, an act of penance she did almost every time on awakening. Her heart ached bitterly for her loss, and as she always did, she allowed herself this small time to grieve, thankful for the solitude. She wouldn't show her tears any more to the others, she couldn't allow that hurt and loss to fill Daryl's eyes. He had done everything and beyond that he could have at the time-she couldn't have asked more of him, but the loss every time was as acute now as it had been at the Greene farmstead.

Dimly, she become aware that there was a presence at the foot of her cell, a dark shadow looming in the doorway, and she clutched her arms about herself, reigning back the shudder and yelp of surprise that she wasn't alone, that she hadn't even heard anyone approach her cell.

"You okay?" Merle rasped.

"Merle, you startled me, I didn't hear anyone coming. I thought everyone was asleep."

"Huh. Was goin' on watch," his boots scuffed softly against the floor. "Heard ya cryin'."

"It's nothing, I'm fine," she said shaking her head. She fervently hoped that nobody else was awake and had heard her crying, it was bad enough that he had.

"Ain't lookin' that way to me."

She raised her eyes and looked across at him. He was poised hesitantly in the doorway, his hand curled around the bars of her cell. He was cast thickly in shadows, but she could see the burning hue of his eyes glinting back at her in the moonlight. He had never visited her at her cell before, nobody ever did really since Lori. "Why are you here, Merle?" she asked, slipping her legs over the side of her bed.

He looked at her and huffed, "Can't I show any fuckin' concern?"

Her feet were cold on the floor, so she reached over and tugged her boots on. "I don't ask you to-"

"No, you wouldn't, would ya," he snapped back.

She glanced up at him sharply, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It don't mean nothin'," he said, and Carol narrowed her eyes at him. "Merle? What's happened?"

"Ain't nothin' happened," he sighed irritably. "Jus' heard ya cryin', wondered what the fuck was wrong. Figured it was was nothin' more than hormones. You bitches are always complain' 'bout that." He shrugged, loosening his hand from the cell bars and stepping away.

Carol frowned at him. His tone and words smarted at her, but she wasn't going to let him know that. The ache for her daughter still hurt, and she grimaced- she was in no mood for this. She pushed herself off the bed and stepped across the cell towards the door. She stood a hands breath away from him, and she wondered why he stood so stiffly, like he was poised to bolt from her.

"Merle?" she questioned, watching as his eyes dragged across hers before falling to the space between them.

He backed away from her another step, and she thought she glimpsed turmoil looming in his eyes. "Forget it," he said quickly, turning from her.

She watched as he angrily moved away from her, the way he seemed to want to put distance rapidly between them, and for some reason, it smarted at her. His boots thumped softly down the metal gangplank, and she felt a sudden rising annoyance that he would just walk away like that. _Why had he even come to her?_ She bit down the thought, and stood there watching him, feeling the tug of emotions piquing at her. After a moment's hesitancy, she chased after him, watching as he pulled the outer door open. He still refused to look at her, and she followed after him as he stepped outside into the darkness.

The chill of the night hit her and she shivered in her thin shirt, wrapping her arms tightly about herself. "It was just a dream. A bad dream. I dreamt about Sophia," she said quickly. "It's _always_ Sophia." She was aware of the pain coloring her voice and she couldn't hide it from him.

He stood stock still and as he peered intently at her, she saw a raw look flash across his face and she almost regretted her words. His eyes raked across hers, and her heart ached at the sudden softness that sprang to his eyes. "I know I ain't never said a damn thing to ya before," he murmured stepping close, his hand reaching out and catching at her arm, pulling her to him. "An' yeah I know, I'm a heartless bastard, but I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what ya went through."

She felt the tears misting heavily in her eyes again, and she bitterly thought that she didn't want him to see her like this-weak. "It wasn't your fault," she choked back another sob, and his arm tightened awkwardly around her, his prosthesis pressing rigidly across her back. Warily, she pressed her forehead to his chest.

"Wouldn't have happened if I'd been there," he rasped softly.

"You can't know that. You wasn't there," she said quickly, and then she was all to aware of why exactly he hadn't been there. She looked up at him, "I...I didn't mean to be so insensitive. I'm sorry Merle."

"Yer tellin' me _your_ sorry? What the fuck you apologizin' for?" Indignation flooded his voice. "Ain't none of this been yer damned fault." Merle shook his head angrily, "How the fuck can ya even compare what happened? I lost my hand, you lost your-"

"I know what I lost, and I have to live with that every single day." She felt his chin rest on the top of her head and she closed her eyes to the inner turmoil running through her.

They stood a while in silence and she stiffened slightly against him when his fingers touched at her hair. Her voice sounded small as she said, "I spoke to Daryl this morning."

The breath hissed in his chest and as his hand fell away from her hair, he let go of her roughly and stepped back a pace. He looked undecided, his feet scuffing on the hard ground, and she mentally berated herself as she felt an ache at the sudden loss of his touch. "Whatever this about, don't do it," she urged softly.

"Don't matter none," Merle growled. "It's been decided. Ain't nothin' you gonna say that could change shit." He shrugged at her and moved away, his boots thumping dully on the concrete as he headed to the watch tower.

"I'm not done talking," she hissed weakly after him.

She watched as he stopped, before turning to her, "Ain't nothing to talk 'bout no more, darlin'," he spat. He turned away from her, and she couldn't help the flailing panic grip her. Her heart lurched in her chest as she stepped out after him, her boots thumping the same path he did.

"Merle," she called out after him, and she wondered at the fact that he stopped, not looking at her. She hurried up to him. "You're better than this." she said quietly.

He shook his head at her, "I ain't," he grunted. His eyes locked tightly on hers, and she could see the warning glowing brightly in his smoky eyes. "Ya don't know what ya doin', mouse," he sighed. "Save all this shit for my brother. I ain't got no time to be dealin' with this crap."

"If you told me, I would know. What the hell are you doing?" She questioned, her eyes meeting and holding his gaze.

He narrowed his eyes. "Doin' what Rick's asked me to do," he answered simply.

"What if I asked you not to?" Her heart hammered in her chest, she knew she was pushing him, but she was suddenly afraid of what was going on, afraid for _him_, and it didn't help that Daryl's warning was crowding in her mind, demanding answers. "We're both worried about you-"

He strode back over to her, and angrily rammed his hand at her shoulder, "Don't ya dare," he breathed, "Don't you fuckin' dare. You ain't puttin' that on me." He rubbed at his forehead with the heel of his hand, before settling it back on her shoulder, his grip tight and pinching at her. "You should go. I can't damn well fuckin' think with ya hangin' around my ass."

Carol sighed, feeling suddenly weary and defeated. She felt the tears prickling hotly behind her eyes and she irritably swatted at them. Merle was still stood so close to her that she could feel the warmth of his body in the chill air. His hand loosened its tight grip on her shoulder, but he didn't pull it back.

"I ain't never been the right brother for ya, Carol." Merle said suddenly. His voice was low and gravelly, "Don't think I ever could be. Daryl is. Ya been good for him. I've seen, an' I ain't stupid."

He moved closer to her and as she looked up at him frowning, his hand dropped from her shoulder, brushing softly against her cheek, before his fingers tilted her chin up. His eyes dropped to her lips, and she swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. His eyes were haunted as he paused before sighing bitterly-and then he was lowering his head to hers, and she closed her eyes as his lips brushed against hers, his rough stubble prickling not unpleasantly against her skin. Her heart pounded so hard in her chest that she swore he could hear it, and before she could respond to his brief kiss, he was gone, and she heard the steady thump of his boots echo on the concrete as he strode quickly away from her.

Tears stung brightly at her eyes again, and she wondered at the fact that it felt like he had just said goodbye.

...


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: As always, I do not own The Walking Dead, nor do I own Merle, sadly.**

_a/n: Again, many many thanks to everyone who is still following this story, I hope it doesn't disappoint. I have included a few lines of dialogue from the series, (as much as I hate doing that) but I really felt no option but to include as they are quite relevant to this part in the fic. After this chapter everything will start to be going AU, although the main plot of the story will remain canon to the actual storyline. With one or two exceptions, of course._

* * *

_..._

He sat with his back to the wall, rifle propped next to him as he counted the moments that brought the light back from the dark. He was cold but unmindful, the early morning chill seeping through his bones, the light morning dew settling damply on his shoulders.

Shifting restlessly, he got to his feet and tugged the rifle across his back as the first tentative rays of sunlight broke out over the prison. He knew what he had to do-and as much as the thought appalled him, he would go through with it. No way was he going to let his consciousness prick at him now, that was crap for dealing with later. All that mattered right now was saving these shitty people, giving _them_ a chance, because giving them a chance meant giving his _brother_ a chance. And when it came down to it, to the bare bones of it-he would do whatever the hell he had to do to ensure his brothers safety. He smirked to himself, giving a soundless little laugh. Karma was a bitch, and this was his karma for being such a dick to Daryl over the years. All those times he hadn't been there, hadn't had the guts to stick around because of what his drug addled temper might have led to...and if he had known all this end of the world fucking crap would have happened, maybe he would have done shit differently. Taken Daryl from their fucked up home, killed that old bastard, given him the beating of a lifetime for all the damn hideous marks he'd put on the both of them, paid him back for all the abuse he'd given their dead momma over the years.

Merle pursed his lips into a tight grimace, running his hand over his forehead and over his hair, his palm fretting and clasping at the nape of his neck. None of it mattered no more. It was gone. Just sepia memories, but he now had the power to make things different. Maybe buy some time for him and his little brother both to make a few new memories.

He was stood at the metal door of the prison before he knew it, and he stepped out of his loosely knotted boots before opening the door cautiously, aware of the numerous squeaks of its un-oiled hinges. He knew at exactly what point that door would squeal, and he held his breath, little beads of perspiration forming at his temples. Holding the door firmly, he shifted his body sideways, taking care of his prosthesis, making sure that the metal of it wouldn't clang against the door. He stepped carefully through, his head poking around the corner, eyes wide and scanning for any occupancy in the room beyond him. Satisfied that he couldn't see or hear a single thing, he slid the rest of the way in, leaning back across to the outside and grabbing at his boots, placing them carefully the other side of the doorway. Standing still, he cast his eyes about the interior again, before gripping the edge of the door and for several long drawn out seconds, quietly pushing it closed behind him.

Michonne had chosen a cell as her abode right towards the back of the prison block, as far out of reach as she could have gotten despite the close proximity of the others. Merle knew she had done that to keep out of reach, unlike him who'd kept his original cell, even though it meant every single damned day he was on view. What the jackasses hadn't realized was-as much as he was on constant view to them, they were on constant view to him. He'd learnt a few surprising things about them that he'd bet his lily white ass on that they had no clue about.

Bet they didn't know that ole man Hershel mostly farted in his sleep, that the wholesome fucking chink kid had been taking 'matters' into his own hand, in Maggie's absence from their shared cell. That Rick sang soft little lullabies to the baby when he thought the rest of the prison were asleep-murmured his dead wife's name on occasions-Merle had always had to bite back that little laugh, the sound of the sheriffs pitiful little dream fueled whimpers. Yep, karma was a right bitch. Merle chuckled to himself. The whole lot of them, they truly were a bunch of clueless bastards.

He scooted across the dusty floor, his bootless feet shifting little dust motes that spiralled thinly in the wan light. Glancing up, he saw the doorway to Carols cell, and he idly mused that _if_ he was of the romantic persuasion, he might have taken a few precious moments to leave some stupid shit like, a flower on her pillow, like the hopeless mindless pussies he'd read about in those crappy romantic novels he'd read back at the library in Woodbury. Bitches always liked flowers. It would have had to have been something small, delicate, a pretty shade of blue-it would have been a token to express all the things that he found beguiling about her, but wouldn't voice. But he wasn't none of that pussy assed shit, he was nothing more than a fucked up asshole who wouldn't know or want to feel emotions like that if it hit up him upside the head.

He smiled at himself, before a heavy frown drifted across his face. That annoying woman was distracting him, and he hadn't even so much as glimpsed her. Yet his feet stayed rooted to the spot, his eyes on the bars of her cell, and he allowed himself one more little moment, one more fleeting thought before he would banish all memory of her from his head. When he had kissed her, he had confirmed one thing to himself, and that was a question that had haunted his thoughts since their return from the woods. She had indeed tasted as sweet as she sounded. And if he was brutally honest, a few more snatched moments like that would make all this fucking shit all the more damned worthwhile.

His heart suddenly thudded a little too heavily in his chest, his lungs tightening a little too uncomfortably, and he dragged his eyes from her cell, willing his breathing to slow, his heart to stop its odd little pounding. He tightened his grip on the boots in his hand, biting at the inside of his cheek as he edged away silently.

A few paces later, and he was stood outside Michonne's cell, and he saw with no real surprise that she slept with her sword close to her. It was tucked just under her bunk, and her arm was draped loosely over the side, nothing more than a fingers breath away. Merle placed his boots on the ground and dug his feet into them, swiftly kneeling to wrangle the laces single- handedly into a reasonable knot.

Stepping into her cell, he leaned across and drummed his fingers on her forehead. Seeing that she only mumbled in her sleep and turned her head to the side, he gripped her shoulder and shook her mildly. Her eyes fluttered open into an instant frown of dark dislike, and he had to bite back the silly little smirk that threatened.

"C'mon Michonne. Day's a wasting and we got shit to do," he growled quietly.

She pushed herself up on her bunk with one hand, and he was amused to see that she slept with those dainty little gloves on. "What the hell, Merle?" she hissed unpleasantly.

He chuckled quietly and watched her nostrils flare at him angrily. _By fuck this one __got__ spirit_-he'd forgotten how much. "Thought ya knew. We gotta help Rick clear some of the tombs." He scratched at his head, stepping back as she shoved her legs off her bunk. "Shit girl, I'd thought he'd already been an' gone told ya. Told _me_ late last night, an' I figured that you and me, well hell...we're both the same. We gotta make our mark here, earn our keep, help the greater good an' all that shit."

"We are not the same," Michonne growled back huskily. Her hand reached under her bunk and he watched as her fingers slipped around the leather bound hilt of her sword.

Merle grunted, "Whatever." He stared at her and shrugged, "But you and I both know that we ain't gonna fit in here unless we both make an effort, and the one we gotta persuade is that asshole sheriff-I mean, Rick. We gotta do whatever it takes darlin'."

Michonne grunted as she got to her feet, pushing past him to step into her boots. She glanced over her shoulder as she tugged them on, her eyes narrowing suspiciously, "You're not feeding me a line? You don't have an ulterior motive?"

He smirked at her, "Shit honey, if I was wantin' to fuck ya, I'd be thinkin' somewhere a lot more fuckin' romantic than a damned biter filled corridor. I ain't that much of an ass. Still, if that's what ya wanna do, guess I'm all up for it. I ain't never said no to a piece of action before."

She tugged the belt of the katana over her shoulder, a little look of distaste on her lips. She sighed at him, "Lead the way. And no. I'm not interested," she said as he gave her an almost hopeful little look.

He turned from her, stepping softly into the hallway, gesturing with his prosthesis. "You don't know what yer missing."

"Think I have a fair idea, Merle," she glowered, pushing past him.

…

He was glad that she wasn't the talkative type of bitch that he'd known from before, both at Woodbury _and_ before the turn, it made the task in hand-he grimaced at _that_ thought-a lot easier. The afternoon before, when they'd all been running around outside like headless chickens strengthening their pitiful fortifications outside by the gates, he'd at first, looked for a little something to help ease his mind into a more thoughtful frame, but had only made himself more angry by finding sweet fuck all. His thoughts of a dream little vacation in tatters, like the remains of a dozen or so grimy mattresses that had yielded nothing. Secondly, he had at least completed his stash hidden in the workshop near the edge of the prison block, everything he thought he would need to subdue and bind his little Nubian captive, carefully hidden away in a duffel bag. He had toyed with the thought that he might need a gag to smother her sweet little voice, but he had dismissed that the second he'd thought it. If anything, she was a woman of few words, and that suited him and his plan very well.

He'd nearly been caught by Daryl suddenly appearing there like a goddamned fucking ghost, and he'd had to suffer a little conversation that he didn't really expect or want to hear. He had refused at the time to acknowledge the tightness in his throat, the sudden tears that prickled at the backs of his eyes, when his baby brother had softly said the words, _'I just want my brother back'. _

Merle shook the thought away angrily-it hurt too much to think about him. Focusing instead on the matter in hand as they stepped their way into the tombs, he remained stoically two steps behind Michonne, his eyes sharply watching her every single move, quietly anticipating. The katana was in her gloved hand, the wicked sharp point lowered to the floor, the thin morning sunlight bouncing off the bright blade, through the small narrow windows.

She glanced over her shoulder at him quizzically, "So where is it?"

Merle pursed his mouth into a tight thin line, then he sneaked his tongue out to wet at his dry lips, "Around the corner. We gotta clear some biters, then get the others down here to barricade it. A breach like this could be an open invitation to the Governor."

He smothered a grin as she stepped back abruptly in alarm as a biter thrust its hands out from between the bars of a locked down cell. She looked back at him with wide brown eyes, "He's not much for subtlety."

Low guttural groans chased across to them, and he saw a few undead assholes stumble gracelessly around the next corner. "You wanna take your chances?" he questioned.

She ignored him, choosing to wield her sword, hacking at a walker that got a little too close. Merle stepped next to her, thrusting the blade of his prosthesis into a sickeningly soft carcass. He shoved his foot out and pushed the corpse away from his arm, leaning down to push the blade through its pulpy forehead. His eyes widened as he saw his chance, and he knew _that this was it, it was now or never_. Regarding her with chilly eyes, he raised his prosthetic arm, before bringing it down with all his might on the back of her head. She fell face forward, prone -her body thudding to the ground and making a sickening dull heavy thump. Merle glanced at her for a few long seconds, waiting to see if she would move, then he stepped quickly over her body, meeting head long four biters that surged at him hungrily. Several thick bloodied spatters later, the biters felled to the ground, and an exerted soft little grunt from him-he finally nodded to himself as he saw the coast was clear.

He shoved at her with his foot, waiting a few seconds then taking her sword from her and heaving it across his own shoulders, the katana feeling odd and unknown against his back along with the rifle. He rubbed at his forehead with his palm, wiping at the sweat, then he leaned down, gathering both of her feet in his large hand, before dragging her the rest of the way in a grunt filled silence to the workshop.

He didn't allow himself time to pause or think, before smothering her face with a filthy pillowcase. Once her face was hidden, he worked on tying the strong wire about her wrists, carefully resting his prosthesis on her as he fumbled with the knots. For extra measure-_it __always __pays to be safe, _he thought as he concentrated-he bound at her hands with more wire, tugging at the knots to make sure that they held firm and true.

He knelt next to her, leaning across to the duffel bag and tugging out a longer length of thin wire. He secured it to the binding around her wrists, never smiling as he again tugged at the line of wire that now lay looped loosely in his palm. Whatever, it was enough to see this task through to the end.

Merle sat back on his haunches, waiting and watching for her to awake. It wouldn't be long now.

…

The sun was a little higher and Merle cursed the lack of a watch to tell him the exact time, but he knew that they must have been making good progress. All being well, he would be there just in time to surprise that fucking devil Philip Blake. He wondered how it would go down, would he take the bait that was offered? But he knew deep down that it wouldn't be the end of it, and now? Now he was in too fucking deep.

As they walked through a desolate ruined little suburb-broken homes and dust grimed wrecks of vehicles, he suddenly started to question what he was doing. The thought piqued at him urgently, did he really think that he could walk away from all of this? That giving the Governor his little prize would keep the devil off the doorstep? He of all people should know exactly what Blake was capable off-shit, he'd even aided him before now in a few jobs that others had found...a little too distasteful. Even Martinez had gone a pasty shade of white when he'd heard of a few of them.

It wasn't helping none that Michonne had started to be a little too vocal than he had originally thought that she would, and he felt a bitter surge of irritation at the memory of the gag he'd felt that he wouldn't need.

He had reminded her that it had been Rick that had originally come up with this little plan, all arranged and dealt with the Governor. She'd tried to turn the tables back on him, and since then, he'd kept his distance behind her, choosing instead to watch as she walked ahead of him, weaponless and powerless, her hands bound and him holding the wire like he was taking a prized thoroughbred bitch along for a walk on a pretty little leash.

He saw a lone biter and he smiled suddenly, pushing the gun in his hand to the belt at his waist. He dropped his leash, and raised an eyebrow at Michonne. "May I?" he smirked again at the frown she gave him as she saw her katana suddenly in his hand. "I'll take that as a yes," he said as he hurried across the grass to the biter.

He glanced back at her before holding his arms outstretched, then he whipped the blade suddenly, taking the biters head clean off at the neck, laughing again as he watched the head roll across the ground. "Heh," he grinned, turning back to her, his eyes dropping from hers to the thin wicked blade. He sheathed it and strode back across to her, wondering that she was still stood there, bound hands held awkwardly before her.

"Ah!" he smirked, "You know what? I'd figured you'd have run."

Michonne paused before grinning back at him, and Merle saw that the smile didn't so much as light those dark eyes that bored their way through him. "I wanted my sword back before I got away."

…

Merle slammed his hand heavily on the roof of the car they had found at yet another desolate house that stood mired in a years or so accumulated neglect and disuse. The fucking car had no chance, even its fucking tires were flat. His resolve was crumbling, constantly being chipped at by the dark skinned woman. Irritably, he dragged his hand off the car and swatted harshly at his cheek, his fingers rasping at thick stubble. He was getting downright fucking annoyed, he'd already told her that he was doing all of this for his brother, for those ungrateful asses back at the prison. Her only answer had been a sardonic, _that's a whole lot of maybe's._

He glanced across and saw with ever increasing annoyance, that a few biters were straggling their way through the tree line. Sighing, he pulled at the leash, tugging Michonne along with him. She didn't say anything, just tripped over her own feet to keep up with his urgent pace.

"You know, I have watched you closely Merle," she said after a moment of silence, their booted feet the only other sound as they stepped out into the open road. "I've watched that woman too." He ignored her, watching as a slight breeze picked up, churning crisp dead leaves in its wake.

"I've seen how you look at her," she tried again. "And I have seen how she is with you. I get the feeling that she cares about you. God only knows why."

Merle felt his back stiffen, and he clenched his jaw tightly, refusing to take the bait. He didn't want to think about _her_-he wouldn't do that. She made him start to question all the goddamned things that he thought he'd ever known about himself.

"It's only my opinion," Michonne sighed then fell quiet.

"My only concern in all this, is my baby brother. Is Daryl," he hissed back, knowing that he was lying-it was _more_ than that, but suddenly his anger was piquing at him, "I do this, the prison gets saved, and I get a little forgiveness."

"It wont play out like that, and you know it."

Merle shrugged, yanking on the leash a little to hard, narrowing his eyes at her back. He just wanted her to shut the hell up.

"I could help you," she said softly, and Merle thought he heard a little tremor to her voice. Like hell he was gonna let that happen. Before he'd know it, she would be high tailing her sweet ebony ass back to the prison and his plan would be screwed. If that happened...he could never go back.

"Not gonna happen sweet-cheeks. You know it and I know it, so why don't y'all do us a favor and shut the fuck up."

He watched as she shrugged, never breaking one single step. There was another long silence before she spoke again. "So you're just the guy that empties the piss bucket and begs for more dirty chores?" Michonne laughed shallowly, "They all respect your brother, Daryl. They need him."

"They asked me 'cause I'm the guy that always gets shit done. I don't see them asking my little brother to do this," he replied tersely, "'Cause they know I'll get the job done."

"You know your brother's got a whole new family? Ain't nobody gonna mourn you Merle, not your own brother, not even _her_. You're missing the opportunity. This could be your shot. "

"You don't know shit," Merle spat angrily.

"You have skills Merle, yet you keep yourself on the outside," she frowned at him. "This could be _your_ chance."

He stood still, and she turned to face him. Her eyes shone darkly and Merle felt a weary reluctance seep through his bones. His eyes roamed across to where they now stood-he could see the battered single line of chalets, a motel. A few cars stood forlornly and his eyes settled on a Chevy Caprice black sedan, parked almost carelessly.

"Why the fuck do you wanna help me?" he asked suspiciously. "Helping _me_ ain't got shit to do with you. You're only the prize that Governor wants, a bargaining chip, nothin' more darlin'."

"I want _him_ _dead_," she breathed, and Merle felt his head snap back to her at the sudden vehemence in her tone. He watched as she stood there regarding him, her hand almost caressing the hilt of her sword. "So, you _will_ let me help you end this," Michonne quietly insisted.

"Ain't nothin' ya can do," Merle answered quickly, twisting his eyes from her. What if she could though? He chewed the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. Maybe she could help him. It had never been in his plans, hell-it would be something that fucking Governor wouldn't expect.

He grunted softly to himself as he suddenly thought of his brother, and he longed for things to be different, for once in his shitty life he could have the chance to make things all right, make a little peace. Then he thought of _her_, the way her eyes had shone with bright tears...Merle sighed, maybe Michonne was right. And if she wasn't and shit went wrong, well hell, she'd just be yet another casualty.

Tugging the knife from his waist, he glared hotly at the dark skinned woman, before tugging the wire leash tightly in his hand. She stepped closer to him, uncertainty glowing in her eyes. "I ain't gonna bite," he rasped quietly as he took the blade to the bindings on her hands and wrists. She looked at him mildly in surprise, shrugging the wire away, letting it drop to the ground as she slowly flexed and coaxed the life back into her hands. He stepped back from her, tugging the katana off his back and holding it out to her, ignoring the soft little smile she gave as she took back her sword, hoisting the strap over her own shoulders.

Merle shook his head, not wanting to see the knowing look in her large brown eyes, the defiant smile pasted on her thick lips. "Alright," he replied huskily.

...


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.**

_a/n: A shorter chapter, my apologies. _

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...

Carol stepped out of her cell, the bundle of clothing clasped tightly to herself and she frowned suddenly, listening. It was all to quiet. Normally the prison would be alive with the sounds of the others bustling about. She held the laundry tighter to herself as she stepped down the gangplank, her eyes drifting across the row of narrow cell doorways. Nothing again. Biting at her lip, she hurried down to the small kitchen area, her eyes drifting across to where she could see Hershel sat with Maggie and Beth either side of him, his ever present Bible flattened and opened on the table before him. His voice was low and steady as he recited a verse, his daughters eyes rapt with attention and focus.

"Have you seen Daryl or Merle?" she asked, her voice breaking the older mans monotone.

Beth glanced across to her and smiled, "I haven't seen Merle, but I think Daryl-"

"Daryl's out back with Glenn," Maggie broke in, frowning at her younger sister.

Carol raised an eyebrow at them as she walked across to an empty table, dumping the clean pile of laundry to the top. She ran her hand lightly over the clothes, her eyes roaming the prison before finally settling on Merle's cell.

It was empty.

She felt a thrill of alarm spread through her as she remembered the night before, the way that he had left and suddenly she felt like she couldn't breath. As she stepped closer to his cell, she wondered what exactly had Rick asked him to do. She stood with her hands pressed to the cell bars, the alarm taking a greater urgency as she saw his neatly made bed, obviously not slept in. Maybe it was nothing, she told herself, maybe he was just outside with Daryl, and she was worrying over nothing. But still the restlessness wouldn't leave her, it lay coiled tightly in the pit of her stomach. She sighed, brushing her hand over her hair. Stepping back, she let her fingers slip from the cell bars and paced hurriedly across the room to the outer door.

Pausing, she heard voices and she listened for a moment. Daryl was asking Glenn if he'd seen Merle, and she felt the anxiousness tighten in her stomach again.

"He said sorry yet? 'cause he is, ya know," she heard Daryl say, and she moved quickly to the door, pushing it open. She saw Daryl stood hesitantly to the front of Glenn, his crossbow held loosely in his hands.

She watched as Glenn looked away from him, saying nothing, just looking down at the thick chains in his hands. She couldn't help the burst of irritation almost tingle across her skin.

"I'm gonna make him make this all right," Daryl leaned in further and nodded his head, his eyes darting from Glenn's to widen momentarily as he saw her stood silently there. "Just needs to be a little forgiveness is all."

She stepped out into the sunlight and saw Glenn glance across at her quickly.

"Oh hey, Carol." Glenn threw her a cautious look, before turning from her and starting to loop the chain through one side of a pair of brown rusted metal gates.

"Daryl's right you know," she said, watching as he glanced back at her. "You need to remember that." She found she couldn't help but stare at him sharply, seeing the flash of regret and embarrassment shift across his dark sullen eyes.

Daryl huffed as he pulled the crossbow onto his back, his hand pulling at the strap. He glanced at Glenn frowning a little, then his eyes fell on hers, and he sighed before brushing his way past the younger man, his eyes narrowing as he stepped across to her. He nodded at her and she knew that was her cue to follow him. Their feet matched step as they walked across the concrete.

"What was that about?" Daryl asked.

"Nothing really. Glenn just needs to make a few allowances."

Daryl looked at her sharply, and she pursed her lips, refusing to say no more, watching as he shrugged. He bit at his thumbnail worriedly, "You ain't seen Merle anywhere?"

They walked towards the fences, and Carol watched as a few walkers surged towards them as they approached, hands gripping at the metal links in the fencing. She turned to him, "No, not since last night, he was taking watch. I was hoping he was with you."

"Ain't seen him all morning," Daryl frowned.

"Daryl, I'm worried," she said suddenly, knowing that was starting to feel like an understatement.

He looked at her, chewing his lip. "Me too. C'mon, he's gotta be round here somewhere, the big dumbass."

They made their way across the prison grounds, stopping when they come to the steps that led up to the workshop. She followed behind him as he pulled the chain linked gate open, pausing when she saw Rick running across towards them, his boots smacking loudly at the concrete as he called out to them. Daryl turned so quickly he bumped into her, and he mumbled an apology before brushing past her.

Rick stood at the bottom of the steps, his hand catching out and resting at the gun at his waist. His eyes were wide and unblinking, "I can't find Merle or Michonne."

...

"He was here," Daryl said as he knelt with one knee on the floor, his eyes scanning the ground about him. He saw a small bundle of fabric and he snatched it up, getting to his feet. Turning it over in his hands, he let the fabric unravel, looking at Rick questioningly as he held up a grimy pillowcase in his hand.

"I changed my mind. Couldn't go through with it," Rick rubbed at his face tiredly.

"And ya didn't think to tell my brother that?" Daryl rounded on Rick, trying to hold his anger in check and failing. Carol watched as Rick took a step back from the glowering man, the fingers of one hand digging into the belt at his waist.

"I didn't think your brother would go off on his own."

Carol sighed, feeling the knot in her stomach tighten. "You should know him better that that, Rick."

Rick nodded curtly, "I tried-"

"You gave him little fuckin' chance!" Daryl shouted as he paced across the floor, holding the pillowcase in his hand. He looked at it in disgust, before balling it up and throwing at the wall. "Shit!" He stopped pacing and stood glaring heatedly at the sheriff, his eyes blazing from beneath his fringe. "Givin' my brother the idea...you knew what he'd do. If anything happens to him-it's on you, Rick."

"I tried to find him, I was going to tell him the plan had changed," Rick hesitantly took a step nearer, reaching out his hand, trying to placate him.

"Didn't look fuckin' hard enough, did ya?" Daryl spat back, shaking his head. "It don't matter. I'm going after him. Gonna bring my brother back. Michonne too."

"I'm coming with you, Daryl," she said softly. Her heart clamored uneasily in her chest and she couldn't ignore the anxiousness that spread through her. She had felt like he was saying goodbye the night before, and now knowing what had happened, she was sure of it. There wasn't any way she could let that just happen. There were too many questions between them and just not enough time to find any answers. She swallowed against the tears that threatened, refusing to allow them any grace. "I'm not staying here, not while they are out there."

Daryl grunted, and she saw the irritation flash across his eyes, the way his jaw clenched tightly. "Ya gonna need a weapon," he answered sharply, glancing at her and she was suddenly conscious of the fact that she didn't have so much as her knife strapped to her waist.

Rick sighed audibly, "I'll come with you."

"I think you've done enough Rick," Carol said as she watched Daryl push past him. She gave him one last tight look before she walked out of the room.

…

"Gonna be quicker if we take the bike," Daryl said as he pulled the heavy duffel bag onto the table top.

Carol leaned against the table opposite him, her hands grasping the edge tightly. "I spoke to Merle last night."

He looked across to her, "What did he say?"

She shrugged sadly, "He wouldn't listen."

Daryl scoffed as he reached into the bag, his hands pausing over the weapons that lay inside. "Sounds 'bout like him." He nudged at her hand gently and she looked at him, her eyes dropping as she saw the pistol in his hand. She gave him a small tight lipped smile and took the gun off him, slipping it into her belt.

"We'll find him Carol," he said quietly, and she couldn't help the sudden tears that sprang to her eyes. She rubbed at her face, hoping that he hadn't seen, but the soft little look he gave her told her that he had. "He's a tough son of a bitch," he paused, glancing away from her quickly, but not before she saw the pain etched on his face. Her heart twisted in her chest and flew out to him, sympathizing and knowing how he must be feeling.

She saw a knife in the duffel bag, still in its sheath and she took it, fastening it quickly to the belt at her waist. Her own knife was back in her cell, but she didn't want to spare the precious time going back to retrieve it. She buttoned her shirt up and tucked it under the knife, the bulk of the weapon feeling comfortable and reassuring at her hip.

Daryl took a handgun for himself and glanced back at her, waiting for her to follow as he strode impatiently through to the outer door of the prison. Stepping out into the sunlight, he dragged the crossbow off his back as they approached the bike. He didn't look at her as he secured the crossbow to the front, instead he threw one leg over the saddle and waited for her.

She took a deep breath and climbed on behind him, watching as he shouted to Carl to open the gates. The bike thundered into life, and she slipped her arms around his waist, holding onto him tightly as they roared out of the prison grounds.

...


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: As always, I do not own The Walking Dead, nor Merle Dixon.**

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...

The car lurched forward slowly and Merle glanced across to Michonne. Her gaze was tight and focused, facing the road determinedly and not even so much as blinking, but he could see the tell tale signs of strain by the way her eyes narrowed slightly, the way her lips parted minutely as she tried to ignore the pounding against the roof and the sides of the car. The thud of numerous hands slapping and clawing and the occasional slam of a body hitting the cars frame echoed dully inside, and as he looked away from her to the road in front, he couldn't help but chuckle.

They were surrounded by the undead, the car idling noisily and the loud music blaring from the stereo herding all the undead assholes along with them. He'd planned to do this alone and he still felt a tick of irritation that she had demanded to come along with him. He wasn't stupid. She'd kept at him, needling him-trying to find a weakness and when she'd found it, she'd fucking pounced, much to his ire and disgust.

He glanced at her again, watching as her head turned slowly towards him. He had to speak up so that she could hear him over the loud noise blasting through the car. "You got the plan now, right?" he asked.

She inclined her head briefly, "I got the plan."

"Fuck it up an' you're on your own. You got that?" He saw her nod her head again slowly, and he gave her a small tight lipped smile. "Not too late to back out."

"I'm not going to back out. I got the plan, Merle," she repeated slowly, and he watched as her eyes glowered at him warningly.

"Good." He rested his prosthetic arm across the steering wheel as the car slowly coasted along, and swatted at his forehead with his hand. He wondered how exactly this was going to go down. He was going to take out as many Woodbury bastards as he could, and of course, the Governor. Might even be easier with Michonne out at his back, covering his ass.

He sighed and tugged the handgun from the waist of his pants. He leaned forward a little, reaching across and nudging her shoulder with it, smirking as she stared at the gun wide eyed. He prodded her with it again, "Take it, ya gonna need it," he rasped harshly.

"I don't need a gun."

"Ain't gonna offer again. I said take it. You gonna need it if shit goes down an' you go get yer ass corned. No big assed sword gonna save you in a tight spot."

She reluctantly palmed the gun from him, slipping it at her own waistband.

Merle huffed at the rigid little expression on her face and how she turned to stare out of the passenger window at the biters. She jumped a little when he slowed the car down again and one of them slapped at the window, dirty ragged fingers trying to slip through the slight gap. He couldn't help but laugh, "He likes ya," he grinned widely.

Michonne narrowed her eyes at him and shook her head.

"Ain't long now Michonne," he stared at the road, suddenly swallowing at the thick lump forming in his throat. His heart started to beat a tattoo in his chest and as he stiffened in his seat, leaning forward, he said abruptly, "We're here."

She reached across to the back seat and dragged out his rifle, placing it next to him. Her hand swatted at the gun at her waist, her eyes drifting to the katana propped next to her. Her fingers slid across the scabbard and she gripped it tightly, alertness wired into her lithe frame, watching his every move.

"Now!" he shouted as he rammed his door open, his eyes sweeping across to her, seeing that her door was thrown wide open. He grabbed at the rifle and threw himself out, rolling across the thick grass. Taking a second, he glanced back across to her, watching as she jumped to her feet and strode quickly over to him, graceful as a cat.

He nodded to her, gesturing with one finger to the buildings to their front. His eyes drifted past her, and he watched as the car rolled to a slowing stop, the biters herding all around it. He ran with the rifle gripped tight in his hand, listening as the loud music faded behind them, the nimble boot tread as Michonne ran alongside him.

He paused at a doorway, the metal twisted and gaping, and he ushered her away, gesturing again with his hand. She stared at him and mouthed quietly, _'Are you sure?'_ and he nodded at her impatiently, waiting until she moved out of sight before he grasped the door with his hand and thrust himself into the semi-darkness.

The building was large, dimly lit by a few cracked windows with dirt smeared panes, the sudden heavy musty smell acrid in his nostrils. His eyes roamed quickly as he ran, noting the position of the windows, viable entrances and exits. Pausing at one window, he shouldered the rifle, watching as he saw two wannabe Woodbury soldiers pass his line of vision. He peered awkwardly through the scope, his eyes tightening in concentration and he fired two quick shots, one taking a man down with a head shot, the next taking the other in the shoulder, winging him and making him land in a tumble of arms and legs in the deep grass.

Merle didn't even think, he just lunged for the next window, peering intently through his sights, popping two more precise bullets into another two men, his mouth fixing into a determined fine line as he saw those hit the ground heavily. Undead came surging through the grass, and he saw them eagerly twist towards the bodies on the floor. He watched as Michonne crept through the thick long grass behind them, saw as she took down a man quickly with her sword, before ducking under cover again.

He ignored the anguished cries of men and bullets, shut out the rending sound of growling biters as he raced back across to the first window.

Taking sight again, he peered through the scope, popping more bullets into the Governors men. He allowed himself a grim satisfaction as he watched those men die-they didn't deserve pity, they didn't even deserve any more thought, and he dismissed them as if they were nothing more than a splatted bug. He caught sight of Michonne, briefly saw the frustrated expression on her face as she stood back some distance behind a group of undead.

His breath caught suddenly and tightly in his throat as he saw Martinez, saw his old comrade in arms look across towards where he was hidden. He swallowed thickly, sensing that time was speeding up and he was getting shit out of time.

Then he saw _him_.

He felt a thrill of hatred and loathing flow through him as he saw the Governor stood there, pistol in hand, shooting at the undead that swarmed at them. Merle felt his skin prickle with heated anticipation and he swiveled the rifle, adjusting the sights with his hand before taking a measured gaze. But just as he pressed the trigger, a youth-_Ben_ he suddenly remembered the kids name, stood to the front of the Governor, and the bullet meant for him, arced into the young mans throat, spraying blood thickly. The Governors gaze shifted abruptly to where he was hidden and as Merle pulled back from the window, he cursed his fucking shitty luck.

He let the rifle lean against his prosthesis while he hurriedly swatted at the sweat on his brow, his skin feeling damp and on fire. Pressing the butt of the rifle firmly to his cheek again, he readied himself for another volley, and was so focused that he didn't notice the biter until it was practically on top of him. He twisted out of its grasp, its fingers narrowly missing tearing at the skin of his good arm, and he pushed back at it hurriedly with his prosthesis before raising his arm and trying to impale it with his blade. But the biter was suddenly looming in too close again and he angrily sliced at it with his bayonet, the blade spraying thick semi-congealed blood. It surged back at him, pushing and pressing him forwards and as he tried to dodge it, its hands were clawing frenziedly at his arms and they were both tumbling out of the doorway, landing heavily in the dirt.

He managed to twist out of its way and plunge his blade through its soft skull, so focused that he didn't see or hear Martinez and the Woodbury men surround him until he felt a rifle butt smack him squarely in the temple. He fell heavily to the ground, trying to curl himself into a ball as he felt a myriad of boots and gun butts kicking and smacking at him viciously. One booted foot caught him squarely in the face and he felt the hot blazing pain as his nose and lip bust, the warmth of his own blood flowing across his chin and as he groaned, he tasted the metallic tang as it filled his mouth. More blows reigned over him and he brought his arms up desperately trying to shield his head. He tried to roll away but he was outnumbered, and as he felt the pain explode all over his body he ached for himself in a different way. It couldn't possibly fucking end like _this_.

He heard a voice in the distance yell angrily, "Leave him, he's mine," and as hurt as he was, an icy chill coursed insidiously throughout him, and for a split second he wondered what exactly the fuck it was. It was something he'd never really known before, and as he felt himself being yanked up roughly to his feet, felt an iron-like arm catch and wrap around his neck painfully- squeezing the breath from his throat, he found he could suddenly give name to what it was. Fear.

He was being dragged back into the building and he struggled, but the arm about his throat tightened the more he fought. His vision spun around before his eyes and then he was pushed hard to the floor and he lay there for a moment gasping for breath, his hand clawing at his throat. He stared up, then felt that familiar chill course through him as he saw Philip Blake stood watching him with that one hateful eye, the patch over his other making him appear almost psychotic. Merle watched him warily then yelped in pain as the Governor kicked at him, his boot smacking viciously into his already battered and bruised body.

He twisted on the ground and raised his prosthetic arm defiantly, lashing out but missing as the Governor quickly side stepped, and Merle spat a blood cursed oath as the other man raised his foot and stamped heavily on his arm, just above the metal of his prosthesis. He watched wide eyed as the boot was raised again and he managed to pull his arm back quickly, cradling it against his pounding chest.

Blake stood watching him with a cold dead eye and Merle struggled for breath, grimacing and closing his eyes briefly to the pain that wracked his body. He didn't think it was possible to hurt so badly in so many fucking places, but it did. He shuffled almost pathetically across the floor, his eyes flickering open and meeting the other mans intense blazing gaze. Raising himself shakily on his prosthetic arm, he tried to push himself up, falling back to the ground panting with exhaustion. He thought quickly of Daryl, of Michonne, wondering if this was really going to be it, and was that woman right-would his own brother even fucking miss him if he died right here, right now. The memory sent a bolt of anger through him and he pushed himself up again, his eyes widening in surprise as Blake rushed at him, scooping him up by a tight fisted grasp on his shirt collar, pulling him roughly to his feet. The mans hand was tight on his throat again, squeezing viciously and trying to choke the life out from him, and in desperation he curled his hand into a fist and thrust his left arm out, trying to gain momentum and push this damned fucking asshole the hell away from him.

He yelled out in pain as the Governor leaned forward and bit at him, he felt the pain spasm feverishly through him as he felt sharp teeth bite through his hand. In horror and revulsion he saw his own blood spill glistening vividly red down the Governors chin and he snapped his hand back roughly as the other man gaped at him, almost smiling, before turning to the side and spitting the blood out of his mouth. The hand at his throat tightened again, and pain exploded unexpectedly as Blake suddenly thrust his head at him, the hardness of his skull connecting solidly with his face. Merle felt the darkness return to his vision, thickly dimming his senses. His whole body burned and throbbed and as he was suddenly thrown back to the ground, his back hitting the wooden flooring solidly- he wondered if it would just be easier to give up now. He'd never amounted to anything in the whole of his damned shitty life, why would his end be any fucking different. Hell, perhaps he even deserved to die like this. Die like a fucking fool. Michonne was right. Wasn't ever going to be anyone to mourn his damned miserable hide.

He lay on the ground panting, his twisted and battered body refusing to listen to him as he willed himself to move. He felt like a fish caught and drowning in the air, his breath tight and his throat raw and hot, achingly refusing to listen to his own body's commands.

His gaze was blurring as he glanced up at the man towering over him with pistol in hand, the lethal black eye of the gun pointing at him and he blinked rapidly against the lethargy that coursed through his body, the feel of his own blood thickly cloying his skin. His voice broke in his mouth, hissing twistedly through his tortured throat, "I ain't gonna beg. I ain't begging you." The sound was rasping and painfully remote to his ears and he smiled defiantly, blinking his eyes to the vision of death stood darkly above.

Distantly he heard a woman's voice breath,"It's over, Philip," and Merle thought that he knew that voice, but it hurt too much to think and so he ignored it, choosing instead to wait for the inevitable end.

"Is that so?" Blake answered back. There was a loud retort and he felt white hot pain scorch through him as the bullet hit him, pinning him back to the floor. Another loud shot rang out and he felt a sudden heaviness on his chest and he closed his eyes as he felt the light splinter darkly before him.

...


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer: As always, I own nothing of The Walking Dead.**

_a/n. After a lot of deliberation, I found that I needed to write this chapter from a different person's pov, and so I've decided to try with Michonne. I have been fascinated with the differences with her in both the comics, and TV series. I have never really written her before, and I'm really hoping that she comes across as okay. Mostly for this fic I write Merle's and Carol's pov._

_A big thank you to all those that are still with me in this little tale. Thank you!_

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...

Michonne was crouched in the long grass, watching with sheer frustration as she saw Merle tumble out of the barn tussling with a walker. She was about to step out and go to his aid, when she saw several men from Woodbury, two that she recognized; Martinez and the hulking man at his side, Shumpert. Crouching back down and glancing quickly to her side at the man she had slain-his decapitated head lay several feet away from her, she gripped her sword tightly, holding it down amongst the thick vegetation that concealed her. She didn't need the brightness of the sun reflecting off the bright blade to reveal her location.

She hissed as she saw those men beating down on the helpless man at their feet, watched as his arms curled around his head protectively, and she felt a glimmer of rage and desperation course through her. Biting it down, she held herself back guardedly, knowing that she was absolutely powerless to do anything, and there was no point at all to the both of them going down before the Governor showed himself. Glowering largely to herself, she watched...and then-there he was, the Governor, and he was dragging the older Dixon brother to his feet and into the building, his arm a choke hold against the shorter mans throat.

Beads of perspiration run down her cheek and she wiped at her face with the back of her glove. A growl to her left made her glance quickly away, and she watched as a walker turned and snuffed its head in her direction. Martinez was still stood to the outside of the building, and she felt her lip curl when she heard his easy laughter as he joked with the others. Glancing irritably to her side, she listened as the groan of the walker got nearer, the shuffling gait of its body as the grass whipped and whispered against it loud to her ears as it stumbled nearer. Michonne frustratedly tore her gaze away from the men and she slid through the undergrowth carefully, before slowly thrusting her blade through its head. She paused for a moment before pulling the blade free, catching at the corpse with one hand, easing its fall to the ground. She quietly stepped back from the body and resumed her crouching position, her eyes rigidly focused once again on the men.

Seconds stretched into minutes and she held her breath shallow, her lips parting slightly as she waited. Finally Martinez gestured to the others -Shumpert was straight to his side and she strained her ears trying to pick up their conversation, but the slight wind was in the wrong direction, blowing the sounds away from her.

Her body jerked suddenly at the abrupt and sharp sound of a single gun shot ringing out clearly into the air and she stared wide eyed at the building, startling again when she heard a second shot-but she held her position as she knelt in the dirt, the fronds of grass tickling and brushing against her arms as a breeze blew softly again. She was poised silently, katana still held in her gloved grasp tightly, her muscles bunched finely and glistening damply with sweat.

Voices reached towards her again and she almost rushed from her hiding place but she held herself back, concentrated on her breathing, keeping the breath shallow as she struggled to listen. She licked at her dry lips, glancing up at the sky, at the vivid unyielding heat of the day.

What could she do? She hadn't achieved what she had hoped, to kill Blake, the Governor. It stung at her that she had failed, but she couldn't have reached him in time, not with his men there. There were too many to take down and she would have been shot herself by the time she had revealed her position.

She didn't know what those gun shots meant, but she felt a faint dread curl and taunt her that Daryl's brother was already dead. And if he was...and she was the only one left, it would be on her to tell him, and she wasn't sure that she could do that- she just didn't know if she had the heart to tell the man that his brother had died. The rest of the prison group were still suspicious of her, she knew it, she saw it...but it didn't bother her so much. She would be suspicious of her, if she was them. But, it certainly wasn't going to endear her to those people if she returned to the prison as the bearer of ill news.

Time passed so sickeningly slow but she held her position, ignoring the trickle of sweat that ran under her clothing, insidiously inching down between her shoulder blades. She cast her eyes about her, before a sudden movement to the front drew her eyes, and she blinked rapidly in utter disbelief as she watched a blonde haired woman dragging a body from out of the building. The blonde woman's hands were hooked under the mans arms and she moved painfully slow and Michonne swallowed at the dryness in her mouth. Cautiously she crept forward to gain a better vantage. The breath hissed in her throat and caught tightly. _Andrea_.

She rose to her feet and stepped out, unmindful of the long grass as it whipped about her shins. Her eyes were fixed on the other woman, and she didn't even pause as she heard a walker stagger across to her. She turned her head minutely, and just flexed her arm out. The katana whispered invitingly in the breeze and she heard the dull thud as the body hit the earth. She shook her arm abruptly, waved the blood off the blade as she silently approached the other woman, and she stood there watching as Andrea collapsed heavily to her knees in the grass next to Merle.

Michonne caught her lip between her teeth as she took in the other woman's condition. She had no idea what she had been through, but as Andrea raised her head to look at her, she saw the thick angry red weals about her neck and arms-the slivers of duct tape clinging around her wrists flashing in the sunlight.

"Andrea," she said softly, leaning down quickly and reaching her hand out to touch at the woman's arm. Andrea turned to face her, and Michonne saw thick tears brimming in her blue eyes.

"I shot him. 'Chonne...I shot _him_," she sobbed.

"The Governor?" she asked tersely, glancing over Andrea's shoulder towards the building. "Is he dead?"

"I don't know. I think so," Andrea's head bobbed up to look at her, tears running thickly down her cheeks. She shook her head, "I had to hide-I was going back to check, but I heard Martinez. I couldn't..." she sobbed again, "I didn't want them to find me. I... didn't want them to take me back to Woodbury."

"Wouldn't have happened if you'd come with me when I said," Michonne remarked mildly, glancing away from her to the man laying prone on the ground. Her gaze slanted as she watched him intently. She quickly knelt down next to him, dropping her sword at her feet and raising her hand to press two fingers to the side of his throat. She was quiet for a moment, before glancing sharply at the woman kneeling opposite her. "He's not dead," she hissed suddenly.

Andrea looked at her wide eyed in shock, before her gaze tumbled back down to Merle. Michonne's hands ran swiftly across his body, pulling his blood soaked shirt back, her fingers trailing up to a bullet wound. His shoulder and arm was covered in blood, his grimed white vest red and sticky. She pulled her hand back, rubbing at the blood on her fingertips.

"Give me your shirt," she said quickly. "We have to stop the bleeding."

Andrea glanced away from Merle, and started tugging the jacket off her back. Her hands trembled when she undid the buttons on her shirt, and she peeled it off quickly, throwing it to Michonne.

"Hold him up," she gestured to Andrea, watching as the blonde woman shuffled nearer and lifted his head, partly raising his wounded shoulder off the ground. Michonne held the garment out, before pressing it against him, wrapping and tying the arms of the shirt tightly under his arm. She wiped at her forehead, leaving a little trail of blood across her skin.

Andrea's gaze traveled past her, and as Michonne glanced over her shoulder, she swore she could hear the steady rumble of a motorbike. She looked at Andrea questioningly, before scooping up her katana and pushing herself to her feet.

She felt her arm nudged and glancing at her side, she saw the gun in Andrea's hands, saw the slight tremble in her hands.

The roar of the engine got suddenly louder and she gripped the sword firmly, only to let it sag in relief in as she saw Daryl ride into the clearing, Carol perched on the back behind him. She was off the bike before he had stopped.

Daryl quickly dismounted and hurriedly kicked at the kickstand. "My brother? Michonne, ya seen him?" he called out to her.

Michonne walked towards him, letting the blade dangle loosely in her hands and she watched as Carol ran quickly past her, her head turning and her eyes briefly following the woman as she saw her fall to her knees, her sudden sobs ringing out abruptly in the quiet. She turned away, the sound aching and hurting at her ears.

"Daryl," she said as he paced quickly over to her. His eyes didn't meet hers, instead his gaze fluttered over her shoulder, "Your brother. He's hurt, but he is alive."

"Stupid fuckin' son of a bitch. He ain't never should have fuckin' gone," Daryl spat harshly, shoving his way past her and running towards his brother.

Michonne sighed and paced restlessly towards the barn. She needed to know if _he_ was dead. Andrea fell into step at her side, and the two of them walked in silence. She paused, glancing quickly at the other woman, before stepping inside. Her eyes squinted in the dimness of the interior, and she took a few steps forward, seeing the blood smeared over the dusty wooden floor.

"Where is he?" she questioned, her voice feeling tight in her throat.

Andrea stared about her, then gestured with one hand, "He _was_ here Michonne." She slapped at her face with her hand, catching a loose lock of hair before pushing it back impatiently. "Shit," she sighed. "Martinez...they must have taken him-"

"So, he _isn't_ dead?" Michonne grated out sharply. She clenched her hand and hit out at the wall. "You should have finished it, Andrea."

"I did! 'Chonne I'm sorry, but I thought he was dead."

"Are you going to tell Daryl that his brother nearly died for nothing?" Michonne shook her head, ignoring the sudden hurt on Andrea's face. It wasn't quite her fault, she had never been an equation in the plan, but she had gone and lost them yet another opportunity, and once again it seemed that the Governor had escaped.

She strode out of the building in frustration, pausing and letting herself drop to the ground. She cradled an arm about her knees, watching as Daryl reached out his hands and grasped at his brother, the tears shining brightly on his cheeks.

Michonne shut her eyes briefly, letting the cool breeze sooth and caress her warm skin.

"Walkers!" Andrea called out suddenly, and Michonne's eyes fluttered open as she pushed herself up to her feet. She strode forwards, her eyes catching sight of a few walkers stumbling into their direction. She glanced curtly at Daryl, "We need to move him. His blood is attracting them."

She didn't hear his mumbled reply, instead she focused on the walkers, and she let her anger tumble outwards as she held out the katana, let the blade soothe her emotions as she cut through the bodies, not even paying heed as they tumbled to the ground.

She shook the blood off her blade,"We need a vehicle," she said as Andrea lowered the gun in her hands.

Andrea nodded at her, "I'm on it."

Michonne watched as Andrea ran past the others, past the barn and she stood there with her blade at the ready, keeping watch for more walkers. She glanced towards Daryl and Carol, her eyes softening as she listened and watched them.

Carol had Merle's head resting on her knees, the tears falling from her eyes hitting his skin damply. She brushed her fingers across his face, her other hand cupping at his jaw.

"He's gonna be fine Carol. It'll be a'right," Daryl soothed softly, his voice hitching abruptly. His hand was splayed out, resting on his brothers chest, tears gleaming brightly in his eyes. He paused for a while, staring down at Merle before saying: "He's a tough fucker, ain't none gonna kill him, 'xcept him."

"I'm scared Daryl...he's in a bad way."

"Hershel will fix him up. That old man will do right by him."

She leaned across him. "Daryl...his hand."

Daryl hissed loudly, "Shit." He glanced away from her, and tugged the red cloth from his back pocket. He held it out to Carol, and she took it. She grasped Merle's wounded bleeding hand, frowning and biting at her lip tearfully as she wrapped the rag tightly around it.

Michonne turned her head quickly and walked away from them, watching for Andrea. She couldn't help at the feeling that she was invading on something private. Michonne sheathed the katana, and hooked her thumbs into her belt. She heard the steady thrum of an engine, and she walked across as Andrea pulled up in a SUV.

Andrea stood with one hand grasping the door, and she smiled wanly at Michonne. "One of the Governors, it was abandoned, just left there," she explained.

Michonne went across and helped Daryl get Merle to his feet, both their arms straining with the weight and effort as they held him up. His head slumped loosely on to his chest, and they grunted in exertion as they half dragged him to the car. Carol darted in front of them, pulling the back door open, and after a few attempts, they managed to get him onto the back seat. He hung there limply, and Carol opened the other door and climbed in beside him, tugging him down so his head lay in her lap.

She reached out and held his bloodied hand by the wrist, pulling it across to rest on his chest. She placed her own hand lightly over the top of his, her other arm curled around his head protectively. Glancing up, she offered Michonne a tearful smile, her eyes dropping back down to him as Michonne climbed into the drivers seat. Michonne waited a moment for Andrea to climb in beside her, then she started the car up.

She watched as Daryl climbed onto the bike, kicking the stand away and starting the bike up, revving it loudly. He glanced over his shoulder at them, nodding curtly before riding off.

They followed behind him in the car, and all Michonne could hear was the sound of faint tears emanating from behind her. She frowned at the sound-they reminded her of the tears she had shed what seemed so long ago, in another place, another time.

...

Daryl had ridden ahead, and she saw by the time she pulled the car into the prison, he must have forewarned the others as to what had happened. Rick was pacing at the gate, only stopping to step back as she drove up to the gates, waiting as he rushed forward and pulled it open. He slammed it quickly behind him, locking it, then raced across to where Daryl was stood impatiently as she pulled the car to an abrupt stop.

She flung her door open, her boots smacking the ground, and she watched as Rick and Daryl took hold of Merle and half carried, half dragged him inside, Carol several steps behind them. The prison door slammed shut, and she stood there alone sighing as she looked back towards the car.

Tiredly, she went back over to the car and rapped at the window, her eyes dark as Andrea woke hurriedly, her eyes sleep filled and groggy. She looked at Michonne and half smiled, but Michonne had already turned her back on the woman and was stepping towards the prison block, listening as she heard Andrea slam her own door shut.

"What happened out there?" Michonne questioned, turning slightly as the other woman came up along side.

Andrea looked at her in confusion, sighing as she tugged her hair and pushed it back behind her ear.

Michonne looked at her carefully, "You're hurt."

Andrea looked down at herself, staring at the bloodied weal marks that circled both her wrists. "What do you want me say Michonne? That you were right?" She laughed bitterly.

"I wasn't going to say that," she shrugged.

"You know I got away, from Woodbury. I managed to finally escape. I reached the prison, but he...Philip was behind me. He caught me and took me back. Handcuffed me to a chair." Andrea rubbed at her wrist, "He'd shot Milton, left him for dead and left us together in a room. I...I didn't think I was going to get away. I watched Milton turn, I watched him as he came for me. Philip did _that_."

Michonne faced her, her eyes suddenly wide, "Did Milton bite you?"

She shook her head, "No. I managed to put him down. I left and I knew where Philip was going, I couldn't leave things at that. I wanted him to pay, and well," she sighed again, and Michonne could hear the strain in her voice. "We all saw how that panned out."

"You did what you could Andrea. Merle probably wouldn't be here if you hadn't."

Andrea shrugged dejectedly. "I didn't do enough. Philip's probably out there now...I just don't know. It's all my fault."

"You should go and get some rest. I imagine the others will soon want to know what happened." Michonne felt her gaze soften a little as she looked at Andrea. The woman's hair was a filthy matted mess, she had tiredness grooved viciously under her eyes, and smearings of dried blood and dirt thick on her forehead and cheek. She leaned out to her, grasping her wrist delicately, not wishing to chafe the wounds on her arms. "Get some rest."

She watched as Andrea inclined her head slightly, then stepped warily towards the prison block, stopping to pause briefly and look back at her as she held the door open.

Michonne sighed and rubbed wearily at her arm, contemplating that rest was something she could do with herself, and as she turned to move she heard the door squeak outwards and watched as Rick stood there hesitantly.

"Andrea? What's she doing back?" he quizzed as he watched her walk towards him.

Michonne rolled her eyes. "Not now Rick."

He shifted on his feet, his blue eyes squinting back at her intensely. "The Governor?"

"Gone."

"But not dead?"

"I don't know," she breathed. Really she didn't want to do this now, she craved some solitude more than anything to try to process everything that had occurred. "How is Merle?"

Rick rubbed at his beard, his fingers scratching, "Hershel's with him now. So is Carol. They're patching him up. He took a hell of a beating-"

"He took that beating on your orders, Rick," she breathed quickly. "You know he let me go?"

"But you went with him anyway," he replied tersely.

Michonne nodded, "Yes. You're not the only one that wants the Governor dead."

Rick sighed quietly, his gaze hitting the ground. "I know. I wasn't going to go through with it-"

"But you did anyway.

"I can't make these choices, these decisions on my own any more Michonne. I can see this now."

She looked at him warily,"You shouldn't have too Rick. You have a whole group of people at your back."

He glanced up at her, grunting softly, "And you? Are you a part of this now, a part of our group?"

She smiled a little at his bluntness, "I suppose I am."

Rick stared at her for a while and Michonne let herself be scrutinized by his vivid blue eyes. She had nothing to hide, no reason to feel ashamed. He blinked at her, leaning back and rocking softly on his heels, and she almost smiled again.

"I...I'm going to check," he frowned at her, then gestured vaguely towards the fences and gate, "The perimeters."

Michonne nodded, tilting her head a little to the side as she watched him stride away, and she turned, spying a metal bench against the wall. She went over to it and sat, leaning her back tiredly against the chair and stretching the kinks out of her legs. The heels of her boots scraped against the concrete and she allowed herself a leisurely yawn, as she watched Rick down at the fence lines.

...

As she stepped into the cell block, the first thing she was aware of, really had _no_ choice but to listen to was the sheer amount of obscenities being thrown about a little too loudly. She stood with her hand itching towards the katana now resting against her back, and listening, she let herself marginally relax as she recognized the sound of a very angry and now fully awake Dixon.

Her gaze drifted across to where Beth sat at a table with the baby tight in her arms, she saw her blue eyes wide open in alarm, her sister sat next to her gripping a bottle full of baby formula a little too tightly. Michonne let her eyes travel across the room, stopping as she saw Carol stood in the entrance of the cell, her arms banded around herself.

"Mother fuckers, ya ain't gettin' it!"

She frowned and feeling the curiosity bite at her a little, she hastened across to the cell, bumping her arm against the other woman's. "Well, he's awake now," Carol said raising her eyebrows and glancing at her.

Michonne leaned next to her and peered into the room.

Daryl was leaning over his brother, trying to restrain him as Merle fought against him, while Hershel was sat back as far as he could on the chair. He was trying to unbuckle the straps of Merle's prosthetic arm.

"Oh no, ole man, you ain't gonna fuckin' have it."

Hershel was jostled in his seat as Merle attempted to pull his arm back, and Michonne could already see red spotting through the bandages wrapped tightly about his bare arm and shoulder.

"Son, we have to remove it," Hershel insisted and she thought she could hear the weariness creep into the older mans voice.

"Listen to him brother, for fuck's sake," Daryl hissed. "Just quit this shit already. Jesus. You can have it back."

"When? Huh. I ain't givin' it up," Merle rasped thickly, "Y'all think it's funny?"

Daryl spat back, "Ain't none think it funny Merle. Fuckin' stop this, or I swear I'm gonna go kick your fuckin' ass when you get out of here. Fuckin' idiot."

"Since when you been gone an' grown some man balls, huh boy?"

Daryl huffed loudly, and gripped his brothers arm tightly. "Since you went out like a dumbass and got your stupid fuckin' hide all beat up to shit."

Hershel finally undid the buckles and before Merle could react, he slipped it off his arm and gestured to Carol. She brushed past Michonne and took the metal contraption in her arms, standing back and out of the way. Hershel mouthed a silent 'thank you', rubbing his hand over his face, before hobbling back into the cell.

"Cock sucking bastard!" Merle wrenched his arm from Daryl's grip, grunting loudly and suddenly in pain.

Daryl stepped back a pace glowering, "Watch your mouth, ya fuckin' jackass." He glanced across to Michonne and frowned, giving her a small nod, then he took his place next to his brother, leaning over him, and placing his hand on his unhurt shoulder. "Hershel gonna have to look at that again, ya idiot. Ya ain't ever gonna learn, bro."

Merle grunted in reply, and Michonne watched as Hershel raised his hand to his shoulder, saw the way that Merle flinched back from him.

"Anything I can do?" she asked, seeing the sudden spiteful glare the older Dixon shot her.

"No, we're good, thank you Michonne," Hershel replied carefully, not taking his eyes off the man laying on the bunk. Daryl's hand tightened on his brothers shoulder, and Michonne turned from the cell, glancing across to Carol. "Good luck with that _one_," she said.

She was halfway across to her cell, when she heard Hershel call out, "Carol? I'm going to need your assistance with his hand." And Michonne found that she couldn't quite help at the small smile that tugged at her lips. As she sat on her bunk, tugging her boots off, she mused that for some it was going to be a long night.

...


	20. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer: I own nothing of The Walking Dead.**

_a/n: Been fighting the most awful writers block with this chapter-despite having nearly fully written the next two. I have precious little in the way of medical knowledge, and have spent some time with google, lol. I'd like to say thank you to ArcheryLefty for advice also, it helped, thank you._

_I would like to thank everyone for the reviews, follows and favorites. As always, it means so so much._

* * *

_..._

Merle woke in the thin morning light, panic gripping as he flailed on his bunk. His dreams had been dark, filled with blood, and bullets and one eyed devils. His chest felt tight, he ached like a goddamned bitch, and for one terrifying moment he thought he was back on that fucking rooftop and he was sawing through his hand again. He couldn't move his arm, and for a moment...he felt terrified that he didn't actually _have_ an arm, and blindly and fumbling he reached across his chest, his bandaged hand thumping against the bindings on his stump painfully.

Sweat trickled down his face, stinging and he bit down the cry that pushed fearfully through his lungs, swallowing thickly. His neck was raw and burning, felt like it was on fire.

He almost jumped out of his skin when he felt a soft hand flutter coolly across his forehead, he choked back the sob when a shadow loomed largely over him, and he willed and urged his eyes to open, trying to steady the breath as it whistled through his tortured throat.

The hand at his forehead moved and brushed through his hair, fingers softly grazing his scalp. He felt the side of his bunk dip down, felt someone lean against him, then a warm dampness hitting his cheek. He tried to push back with his hand despite the pain, but his movement was quelled, a soft cool hand on his wrist, firm but gentle, and then he heard her calling his name.

He gazed about unfocused for a moment, frowning and trying to remember where the fuck he was. The last thing he really remembered was Blake looming over him like a goddamned apparition of death. He struggled to rise, only to flail a little on the bunk as pain throbbed throughout him. "Where the fuck am I?" he croaked weakly, and his voice was so light he wasn't sure if he'd asked the question or if it was just in his mind.

"Merle, you're having a nightmare," Carol's voice trembled a little as she moved away from him, but her grip on his wrist tightened slightly. "I couldn't wake you."

He shifted himself on the bed again, gritting his teeth at the throbbing in his shoulder, "Fuckin' fuck," he hissed painfully as he glanced up at her in the dim light. He blinked several times, trying to see her through the fading memories of his dream. His eyes blurred then focused, and he suddenly saw her clearly and he felt panicked to see tears on her face. His voice choked hoarsely in his throat, "Whatcha cryin' for?"

"You. You could have died. Again." Her eyes on his were soft and full of something he didn't want to acknowledge, and he half wondered if it was pity he saw there. Her hand moved away from his arm, and she leaned across to her side, grasping something in her hand.

Merle shuffled on the bunk and he pushed himself up on his elbows, stifling back a grunt of pain, and as he stared he saw a bottle of water in her hand. She flipped the lid off and held it out to him, frowning at his hand. Leaning closer to him, she held the bottle to his lips.

He glared at her, feebly trying to push her away, "Ain't no baby, I don't need you-"

"Just shut up and drink Merle," she retorted quickly.

He sneered a little, before allowing her to tip the bottle to his lips, and he took a few long sips of the water. The coolness of the liquid soothed his aching throat. He froze when she took the bottle from him, wiping at his wet lips and chin with her fingers. He wanted to curse and push her away, but then he saw the softness in her blue eyes, the way she wanly smiled back at him, and he felt the insult dry and sour on his tongue. His heart did that stupid little flutter and before he could stop himself, he held his hand up to her face, rubbed at the tears with his tip of his thumb. She swallowed suddenly, her eyes briefly fluttering shut at his touch and he couldn't help the small growl cough out abruptly into his throat.

"Is the pain bad?" she asked quickly, looking at him with concern.

"What the fuck you think?" he spat.

She narrowed her eyes at him for that, and leaning across to where the bottle had been, she took a small vial of tablets. "Stupid question, I know. Stick your tongue out."

"An' where do ya want me to stick it? Got an idea, but Christ, I didn't know you were being so goddamned playful." He coughed again at the rawness of his throat. "Yer gonna kill an injured man like me, you know?"

"Just do it," she smirked suddenly, and Merle felt his heart lighten a little at that look. He grimaced, but did as he was told, and she popped a tablet on his tongue, letting him wash it back down with the water.

He glanced across the little cell, his eyes traveling back to her, narrowing when he spied a blanket pooled on the floor next to the chair she was sat in. She looked weary with fatigue, dark smudges under her eyes. "How long you been here, babysitting my ass?"

"I don't know. Twenty-four hours, maybe more, maybe less. Hershel thought it was best that someone sat with you, to keep an eye on you. Daryl should be here soon-we've been taking it in turns to watch over your 'ass'," she glanced at him almost apologetically.

"Ain't you slept, woman?"

Carol laughed a little, "Don't you know that sleep is over-rated?" She saw him raising his bandaged hand and staring at it. "You got bit. That animal, the Governor he bit you," her breath hitched a little in her chest. "Hershel...we worked on you most of that night. You were in a bad way. _Why_ did you go, Merle?"

Merle glanced from his hand to her, "You wouldn't understand, an' I ain't in the mood for explaining shit." He wondered if she was going to snap back at him, retaliate, beg him for an answer-he half expected it, but he saw with surprise that she just looked at him with an expression he couldn't quite read, and it annoyed the shit out of him.

He huffed as he tried to make himself more comfortable on the bunk. He ached badly, and he doubted he would be able to go back to sleep, and he wasn't so sure if he wanted to if he could. Didn't need another goddamned nightmare, he'd thought he was over all that crap. He glanced as her hand reached out and lay resting limply on the edge of his bunk, her fingers splayed out and as he looked down, he saw the dried blood on her cuticles, saw the blood under her fingernails. _His blood._ He wondered how long she had been with Hershel trying to fix his stupid fucking body.

"Don't need none watching over me," he growled irritably, watching as her fingers twisted in his blanket.

"Of course you don't," she replied, "I wouldn't expect anything different of you Merle, but for the moment, you are kind of stuck with it." Her head turned away from him to glance past the cell door, and she rose stiffly out from her seat, looking and smiling a little as Daryl thumped his way to the cell. He stood there glowering.

"Asshole woken up yet?" he questioned.

"Mhm," she answered moving towards the doorway. Her hand rested briefly on Daryl's shoulder and Merle watched his brother intently, and he found he couldn't help the little spear of jealousy as Daryl glanced back at her.

"Crawled out from Rick's ass long enough to think about your brother, huh?"

Daryl stepped into the cell, pausing before sitting on the seat that Carol had vacated. "Shut it, Merle," he warned. "I been watching your pussy ass, same as her. Ain't seen Rick all morning."

"Play nice you two," Carol said from the doorway.

Merle looked up and watched her. She had one hand curled around the bars of his cell and her gaze was fixed on his. She was smiling at him and suddenly the cell felt too large and he felt too goddamned fucking small lying there helpless and beat all up to crap. He watched as she moved away, stared at the empty space at the doorway, half hoping she would find a reason to come back and half hoping that she wouldn't.

"What the hell brother? You ain't listened to a word I said," Daryl grated out dryly.

Merle glanced back at him, "What?"

"You must have gone knocked yer damned thick skull," Daryl shook his head, watching Merle. "Reckon about same time you went and got your ass kicked."

"Fuck you Darlina," he said mildly.

…

He wasn't sure how long he had slept, laying there he felt like he was losing all goddamned track of time. Hershel had come to check his shoulder, to redress the bandages and to check on the bite on his hand. The old man had been full of concern, and Merle wondered again why these people would give a shit about him-they never had before. Maybe it was nothing more than concern because he was Daryl's brother, and they were tolerating him because of that.

He was vaguely aware that the old man was watching him intently. He felt his lip curl at the older mans gaze. "You done, ole man?"

"You need to rest that shoulder Merle, and I am afraid that it will be a while before you will be able to use your prosthesis. You won't be able to bear any extra weight on your shoulder. Not if you want to heal fully."

Merle huffed. Wasn't exactly what he wanted to hear. "How long? I need my fuckin' arm."

"A few weeks-"

"What the fuck? A few weeks?! An' what the _hell_ am I supposed to do in between? That ain't gonna happen. No shit."

"You rest, son. And you get better."

Merle shifted restlessly on his bunk, staring down at the hated bandages wrapping his stump. It made him feel even less of a man without his arm. Didn't anyone fucking realize that?

"You were lucky Merle. Lucky to be alive with that gunshot wound. I don't fully understand what happened with the Governor and his men, nor do I know what happened when you confronted him, but yes, you are lucky to be alive. Another inch or so, and that bullet would have hit an artery. You would have bled out. I have left antibiotics with you, you will need those in case of any infection with the bullet wound, and for that nasty bite on your hand."

He turned with the crutches rammed under his arms and he hobbled towards the doorway. "If you don't mind my saying so son, don't let your pride stand foolishly in the way of any help you are offered. You will need the help if you want to fully recover." He stared at him for a second longer then hobbled towards the doorway.

"Huh, Hershel." Merle felt the spit dry in his mouth. "I ain't said before, but huh...thank you man."

Hershel inclined his head as he smiled, then left.

…

Carol had come into his cell a few hours later, laden with several pillows and ignoring the frown he gave her, she moved behind him and started adjusting the pillow at his back. When he wouldn't move, she tugged at it several times tutting at him, so he begrudgingly rose slightly in the bed, wincing at the flare of pain in his shoulder.

She must have noticed or heard because her movement stilled and she asked him if he was alright. He didn't want her there fussing over him, and he couldn't trust himself to not just tell her to get the hell out, so he only grunted in reply. Her hand was brushing against his skin, and he couldn't help but tremble at her touch, his skin almost burning. Trying to ignore her and the turmoil the softness of her hand caused, he stared rigidly and firmly across his cell.

He flinched when he felt her hand graze against the scar beneath his shoulder blade, and he was drawn back to a moment, remembering Daryl as nothing more than an annoying high speed toddler, with dashing feet and even quicker hands dumping a whole bottle of their Pa's cheap bourbon into their mangy dogs drinking bowl out in the back yard. He had ran, his feet kicking over the bowl, dumping the contents and watching in fear and horror as the amber liquid seeped all across the sparse grass and hard dirt. He took the blame for it, said he'd wanted to know if dogs could get drunk like his Pa often was, and so he earned himself that scar from the beating of his fathers leather belt. It had been worth the pain to spare his brother, but the following day he'd been heartbroken to see the dog had gone.

"Merle?" she questioned softly, stepping around to his side. "Is that better now?"

He leaned back into the pillows, liking the fact that now he could see more instead of being flat on his back, his position was more upright and the pressure was eased off from his shoulder a little. He sighed to himself, not wanting to question the thought that things seemed better when she was near. "You need to quit your damn fussin'. I'm fine, woman," he rasped thickly.

She touched his shoulder lightly, "Get some rest. I'll check in on you later."

He was about to tell her that he didn't need her to keep on fucking checking in on him, but when he looked she was gone, and he was left alone again to mull over his thoughts.

...


	21. Chapter 21

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.**

_a/n: As always, many thanks to everyone who is reading this fic._

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_..._

Merle waited a while restlessly before swinging his legs off the bed, and grunting after much cursing he managed to get himself to a sitting position. He ached every goddamned where, even the cut on his nose and lip smarted like an unruly bastard. His head pounded like shit, and his vision swayed before his eyes, but he was going to do this while he had the fucking chance to do it. It took another few moments before he felt his breathing return to normal, and he cast his eyes over his body, touching at the mass of hideous purple bruising over his chest and ribs with his bandaged hand. His head hung down and his eyes darted to the entrance of the cell, and he held his breath as he listened for activity beyond his cell doorway.

Satisfied he could hear nothing more than the usual sounds drifting through the prison block, he shifted his body to the edge of his bunk, his hand reaching out and shakily touching the edge of the mattress. It fucking annoyed him that he couldn't put much weight on his hand, it stung like a goddamned bitch, and his other arm was bound tightly in a sling cradled against his body.

He got to his feet, swaying slightly, and the blood danced and spotted merrily before his eyes. He blinked rapidly trying to clear his sight, even as his eyes spied the few meager possessions he owned bundled in the far corner. What he wanted right now, more than anything was a smoke. Well, if he was honest, he would have chosen something a little more stimulating, anything to cool his mind and numb the unrelenting pain. But there was nothing here other than goddamned cigarettes and that was if he could even find the damned things.

Merle pushed himself on stiff muscle cramped legs towards the corner of his cell, and rifled through the small neat stack of clothing that was there. He found a shirt and tugged at it, dislodging the clothing to the floor in a heap. Narrowing his eyes, he kicked at it bare footed in frustration.

He nearly chortled when he found the battered pack of cigarettes, his only unbound finger and thumb flipping the pack open, seeing the stale and somewhat bent cigarettes residing within. Smiling to himself he gingerly thrust the packet into the pocket of his pants, feeling thankful that he'd actually managed to keep those on. He didn't much like the fact that Hershel and Carol, and he groaned at the thought of _her_, had all to probably seen the scars marring down his back when they'd worked on his shoulder. And as much as that pissed him off, he was glad of his pants-he didn't much care for the idea of the old man gawking at his junk either.

His boots he found placed under his bunk and he dragged them out, ramming his feet into them, thankful for the fact that the laces were at least loosely tied. He glanced at the shirt and then down at his bare skin and shrugged. Even with the bruising and the bandages, he knew he didn't have such a bad physique, a little pale, a little too thin now but he didn't want to overly draw attention to himself-plus it was getting fucking _cold_, so he tried pulling the shirt on, only to curse in frustration at the sling impeding his attempt to dress.

It took a while to tug the sling from off his arm and from around his neck and he swore at one point that the damned thing was trying to throttle him like the Governor had done. He had to sit back down on his bunk as the pain tore raggedly through his shoulder, but he managed to get the fucking thing off, only to hiss in irritation at his new dilemma.

He couldn't really grip with the thick bandages on his hand, and it was damned hard trying to grip anything with this stupid assed two finger pinch grasp. He'd managed to get his injured shoulder and stump through one arm of the shirt sleeves, and the struggle was the other goddamned arm. In the end, he had to use his teeth and chin to wrangle the fucking thing on, and it had taken too much time. He was sweating and aching like a bitch, and as he glanced down at the buttons he thought, hell to it. Wasn't a chance he'd get those fastened.

Stepping out of his cell, he rested his head against the cool wall briefly, panting with effort. He groaned when he looked up and saw Carol marching her way hurriedly towards him, saw the worried expression on her face. He had no idea where the hell she had just sprung from, but he didn't want to be dealing with this crap right now.

"Merle?" She called out to him. "Where do you think you are going?"

"What'cha fuckin' think?" He breathed shallowly.

She ran a hand through her hair, her brow furrowing as she watched him. Her voice was full of concern, "You shouldn't be out of your bed. You should be resting."

He felt the hot flow of anger prickle him. "Get out'a my way, sugar. I'll do whatever the hell I want."

"No you won't Merle. And if you know what is good for you, you'll get your ass back in your cell."

He thrust his jaw out at her, "An' who the fuck do ya think you are? You ain't telling me what the shit I should do." He was mildly aware that they were attracting an audience, he could see Glenn pacing towards them, but he was getting downright pissed and he couldn't give two shits as to who was watching.

"I'd listen to her," Glenn said as he came up along side and stood next to Carol.

"Ain't none asked you for yer fuckin' opinion, Chinaman." He made to move past them, but Glenn blocked him, raising a hand warningly. "Get out'a my goddamned way, boy!" he glared.

"No. I mean, look at you." Glenn let his eyes travel across Merle's body, seeing the bruising and bandages through his shirt that was flapping open. "You look like crap."

Merle narrowed his eyes. He knew he looked like crap, but didn't need to hear some chink asshole tell him the obvious. He found that he couldn't help but say, "Fuck you." If he could have flipped the Asian punk the bird, he fucking well would have.

Carol paced quietly across to him, her hand catching out and touching at his wrist. "Merle please, let me take care of you."

He shook her hand off, watching as she bit at her lip. "No. I don't need yer pity." He heard Glenn sigh audibly and it angered him. "What is _with_ you people? I don't need any of your shit and I'm fucked if y'all gonna keep me like a goddamned prisoner," he sneered.

"Nobody is keeping you prisoner here, Merle," Glenn said quickly, "But she's right. Really you should be resting. Honestly, I don't know what point you're trying to prove."

"Ain't got no goddamned point to prove. Why can't you jus' leave me the hell alone?"

Glenn gawked at him stupidly. "You got shot, what like two, three days ago? I think you're being pig-headed and stupid Merle."

"You don't know shit 'bout me, Kim-chi. You don't know nothin'." Merle closed his eyes briefly to the sudden headache springing before his eyes.

He had never meant to come back, it hadn't been in his plan-he thought it would have been nothing more than a one way trip. It was never supposed to have turned out like it had. He wondered if he had failed because he'd stupidly let Michonne talk him around, let her keep on yammering at him until in the end it had been fucking easier to just cave into her. And that had been a first in itself-letting a bitch talk him around, and a _black_ one at that. But now he was back, and he was back less of a man than he had been before. He didn't want to see their hate anymore, see the weary acceptance that he was back and what shit it would cause. He was tired of it. And now it would be worse because he would have to rely on them, and he had never been big on that before. Never needed anyone but himself to sort his own way through his fucking shit.

Glenn stepped a pace nearer, "I know enough."

"This about Michonne? This 'bout the Governor? I went through with the plan. _Ricks_ fuckin' plan. That man didn't have the balls to follow his own goddamned idea through. An' what? You wanna look at me like I'm the goddamned devil? Boy, that devil is sitting on your ass, he ain't never left ya."

"This coming from you?" Glenn spat bitterly, "What you did to Maggie and me?"

Merle felt the headache settle firmly before his eyes, and he wondered at the sheer fucking pointlessness of it all. They would never accept him for what he had done, even now. It didn't matter for what reasons he had done it for. "I done worse boy. Alot worse. You need to nut up and grow the fuck up. Shit happens."

He didn't give them a second thought or glance as he shouldered his way past them.

...

Merle sat there in silence for a moment, enjoying the peace and solitude. He was finally on his own, wasn't nobody else around except a few biters hanging around at the fences. He glanced towards them and sneered. Stupid undead assholes, why wouldn't they just shut the hell up. Always with that constant fucking moaning and groaning...sighing at them irritably, he turned his head away, his gaze sweeping across the cluster of buildings, the watch tower. All he wanted was a few more damn peaceful moments before he had to go back to his cell. He closed his eyes, feeling the early evening chill, the cold dampness in the air.

His eyes snapped open as he heard the fence rattle.

_Just _

_one _

_more _

_goddamned _

_fucking _

_minute_

He shifted about on the bench restlessly, feeling the tightness start to wake in his shoulder, and he knew he should go back indoors before the tightness turned into that horrible sickening dull pounding ache that would surely keep him awake all damn night. But he wanted just a minute more before he'd have to go back inside and face their sickening pity and loathing.

He ached with the need for a cigarette, but the thought of trying to get them out of his pocket and then having to light the fucking thing put him off. The fencing rattled again, and as he heard those ever present grating moans he felt his heart tighten and his lungs freeze up. His blood pounded thickly at his temples-he could hear it throbbing in his ears painfully.

He glanced back towards the fences again, his eyes narrowing as he suddenly jumped to his feet. _Oh __by __god they were asking for it, and he was go__ing to__ damn well give it to them._

His boots thumped all the way down to the fences and he watched as a biter turned towards him, its vacant yellowed gaze roaming over to where he stood. He saw its ruined caved in nose snuffle for his scent, and he angrily lashed out at the fence with his foot, rattling it loudly.

"Ain't over," he hissed, "Ain't fuckin' over." He kicked at the fence again, his eyes almost burning as he watched them stagger eagerly over towards him. "Bastards. Ya dumb fuckin' fucks." He lashed out with his boot again, kicking at the fence. "Cock sucking bastards." A biter surged to his spot, and he saw its long withered fingers slip through the chain links, and he stepped so close to it that he could feel the snap of its teeth close to his face. "Yeah," he smirked, "C'mon, you ain't got the fuckin' balls to have a piece of me, fuckin' stupid piece of shit." He spat suddenly at it, watching curiously as his saliva dribbled down its pallid cheek and he smacked his hand at the fencing, his fingers gripping the linking and rattling it loudly. The biter twisted its head and gaped hungrily and Merle drew his hand back slowly, not noticing the blood starting to seep brightly through the bandages.

"You're dead, asshole." He pushed his shoulder to the fencing, grinning as the motion rippled and jolted the bodies the other side. He hit the fence hard again with his hand, "You're fuckin' dead!"

"Merle?"

He ignored the voice as it drifted in the air, instead he shook his head, panting as he raised his foot to kick the fencing again. His heart pounded heavily in his chest as his boot connected hard and he waited for the biters to follow him across as he paced angrily at the fence. He rested his head briefly against the metal links, ignoring the fingers that tried to claw at him and then he raised his head to stare at them, before slapping at them and the fence again with his bloodied hand.

"Dude? What the _hell_ are you doing?" Glenn called out, nearly tumbling over his own feet in his haste.

"Ain't over," Merle hissed. "Fuckers. It ain't never over."

Glenn took a few steps back, before turning and running back over to the cell block.

His head ached, felt crowded and jumbled, and all he could think of was these hated fucking things and how they needed to pay for every goddamned thing. He thought he saw Blake stood there amongst them, staring at him blackly with one glittering eye, and he hissed before wiping at his forehead, smearing cold dampness over his face. "You're fuckin' dead, you bastard!" He thumped at the fence angrily with his hand again.

"Merle!"

He turned slowly, thinking he could hear his brothers voice, but that _wasn't_ right. Daryl wasn't at Woodbury, he was at the prison with the rest of all those dumb fucks.

"Shit, Merle. Stop it brother!"

He felt a strong hand grip his shoulder, pulling him around and he raised his hand and lashed out, feeling his fist connect. Pain flared hotly in his hand and he raised it again, only to have his arm grabbed at firmly. "Brother don't do this," a voice breathed at his ear. He felt his body go suddenly slack and he raised his head tiredly, trying to bring his eyes back into focus.

Daryl had his hands tightly on his shoulder, pinning him and holding him steady, while Glenn had hold of his arm. Merle tried to shake the Asian off his arm in disgust.

"What were you doing?" Glenn hissed as he finally let go of his arm.

Merle gazed at Daryl, swallowing several times before he could find his voice to answer,"I-I don't know," he rasped in confusion. He could see the tears brimming in his brothers eyes, and then his own eyes widened in sickening realization as he saw the red mark on Daryl's jaw.

"C'mon Merle, I'm gettin' your ass back inside. Shit," Daryl shook his head at Glenn, warning him away, before looping his arm across Merle's back. "C'mon brother."

Merle let Daryl lead him back inside. He felt tired and nauseous and he ached like a son of a bitch-his hand throbbed unrelentingly and as he raised it, he looked at the blood smeared bandage stupidly. He could feel the others gaze on him as he stumbled through the prison block but he wouldn't raise his head to stare back at them. He was back at his cell before he realized, and Daryl was easing him onto his bunk.

"Daryl," he said faintly, "Fuck. I'm sorry, little brother." He glanced down at the floor as he felt his brothers hand on his shoulder, gripping him gently.

Daryl looked at him and shrugged, "Ain't nothin' to be sorry 'bout Merle," he whispered. "Ye fucked ya hand up again, ya dumbass."

Merle huffed, then glanced up as he heard feet clatter into his cell. Carol was staring at him with a stricken expression. She stepped hastily into his cell and he watched as she touched at his brothers shoulder. Daryl looked at her and then nodded, before stepping back and standing in the doorway of his cell. Merle glanced as Carol watched him sadly, before sitting next to him. She placed a bottle of water and fresh bandages on the bed beside her.

"Oh Merle," she sighed quietly, "You stupid, stupid man." He saw the tears shining brightly in her eyes, watched as one trickled slowly down her cheek and he painfully raised his hand to swat at it. She caught his hand in her own and gently brought it down into her lap. "I need to change your dressings. You're not going to fight me on this, okay?"

He shook his head, watching warily as she peeled the sodden wrappings off. He heard her sharp intake of breath, and he leaned his back to the wall as she started to clean out the wound. It stung badly and he involuntarily clenched his fist at her, only for her to pause and slap lightly at him. He felt pressure on the wound and he glanced down, watching as she redressed it with fresh clean bandages.

"All done," she said quietly, and he went to pull his hand back, but was surprised when she caught it between both of hers, holding his hand in her lap. "You're lucky you didn't burst your stitches. Promise me... you won't do anything so stupid again, please?"

He shrugged, "Can't promise shit."

"Don't make me come in there and kick yer ass, bro," Daryl joked quietly from the doorway.

Merle huffed again, watching as Carol got up from his bed, scooping the soiled bandages and bottle in her hands. "Carol. Don't go," he asked quickly, feeling suddenly stupid for asking, and feeling even more fucking stupid for wanting her to stay. His heart thumped a little too quickly as she looked uncertainly across to Daryl and he saw his brother turn to her and nod, taking the soiled bandages out of her hands.

Carol sighed again, and then her eyes were seeking his out. She shook her head at him questioningly as she sat on the bunk next to him, "Why?" She didn't stop and wait for him to answer, though her eyes narrowed at him as she reached her hand out and touched at his cheek gently. "Don't do that again Merle," she warned tearfully.

He sat there hesitant and awkward, not really knowing what to do, and before he could change his mind, he leaned towards her and rested his forehead on her shoulder, closing his eyes. Her arm slipped about his back and he sighed against her throat, feeling her hand catch and rest lightly against the nape of his neck, her fingers trailing soothingly up and down his skin.

He moved to put his arm around her and winced in pain as the motion jostled his shoulder. He knew that she had felt it because she was pushing herself away from him and he sat there dumbly as she rose to her feet.

"I should go Merle. I think you've had enough excitement for one day." She smiled at him wanly, watching as he eased his body onto the bunk. With one hand she pulled the blanket over him, and as he felt the first drowsy edges of sleep take him, he didn't see that she watched over him for a long while, and he didn't see as she finally walked out of his cell with the tears still shining in her eyes.

...


	22. Chapter 22

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.**

_a/n: Not overly happy with this chapter. I guess I am the type of writer that just can't write anything in advance-no matter what I do, I have to take it apart and keep on adding bits, and taking bits away and then re-writing different bits. Guess I am more of an impulsive writer, most of the time I have a vague idea of the main plot, but it isn't until I've written that I have any idea of where I am going, and some things I write surprise me, other things make me angst. But yeah...this piece has been through the re-write/edit phase three times now, so I've decided to just leave it as it is. I will admit to being hesitant about posting this chapter.._

_(Added note-Done a minor re-edit on a paragraph with Merle that hasn't been feeling right to me. It is now fixed)._

_As always, thank you to all those that are reading._

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...

"So, ya just gonna lay on your lazy ass in bed all day?" Daryl said, leaning in at the cell doorway.

Merle looked across to him, "Ain't much else to do, little brother." He watched as Daryl smirked then shoved himself from the bars and sauntered in, carefully propping his crossbow against the wall. "You still keepin' watch over me? Is bad enough with Hershel and Carol buggin' my ass."

"Yeah, and ya asked for that, stupid stunt ya pulled yesterday." Daryl shoved at Merle's legs, waited for him to pull himself into a sitting position before flopping on the bed next to him. "What was ya thinkin' brother?"

Merle glanced away from him, unable to meet his brothers inquisitive gaze. He stared at his hand, at the bandages. "Ain't gonna talk 'bout it, so don't ask."

"Was it...like before Merle?" Daryl's voice was quiet and as Merle looked at him, he saw the understanding in his brothers eyes. He didn't know if that felt worse-the pity or the sympathy.

"Go on, little brother, spit it out. I know ye fuckin' want to," he sighed tiredly.

Daryl shrugged, but paused a while before answering. "Wasn't gonna say shit. But a'right. This time? It's good to see you clean, Merle."

"Only 'cause I couldn't find any damned thing. Believe me Darlina, if I could find have found something to take the edge off, I fuckin' would have. Goddamned prison, you'd have thought something a little recreational would be stuffed away somewhere. Inmates now, Jesus-spineless sober fuckers."

Daryl grunted and looked at him, narrowing his eyes. "Rick's thinking 'bout clearing a few more blocks. Gotta map, seen an infirmary, library. Might be worth thinkin' about clearing them."

Merle rolled his eyes at the mention of 'Rick'. "You sharing his cell yet, boy? Got yerself some nice assed fancy high heels?"

"Fuck off brother, ain't like that." Daryl shuffled on the bunk next to him and Merle risked a glance at him. His brother was scowling and he couldn't help but feel amused by it. Was good to see that he could still piss him off. But as much as it amused him, he wasn't really feeling in the mood to talk about the good fucking sheriff.

"You off huntin' today, boy? Seen the 'bow."

"Maybe," Daryl replied. "Was thinking might take Carol with me. She been stuck here too long with your miserable ass. Thought the break might do her good."

Merle stiffened in his seat at the mention of that. "You...taken her huntin' before?"

"Ain't been much since the prison. We used to at Hershel's farm. Even tried to teach her to use the crossbow once, but she liked the rifles better. Guns ain't much good fer hunting now, not with the walkers."

"Huh. So you spent a lot of time with her?" He couldn't stop himself from asking, even though he already knew the answer.

"Yeah," Daryl said softly. "You know I have, dumbass. What's with the questions?"

"Ain't nothin'. Just curious is all Darlina."

Merle sighed and leant his good shoulder to the wall, the movement jostling his other a little, and he couldn't help the small shudder that rippled through him as the pain poked at him. All the time that he had been away, first that rooftop, then when the Governor had found him and taken him back to Woodbury, he'd always wondered then, and even now what had happened to his little brother. It seemed now that Carol had played a bigger part in his brothers life than he'd originally thought. Maybe she had helped to bring him out of his shell a little, and the thought struck him then, that as much as she might have changed him, it was possible he had changed her too. She was never that timid little mouse he'd first seen at the quarry, hiding under her husbands shadow. Would they both had changed if he had been there?

Daryl watched him, and shifted in his seat to look at him in concern,"Do you want Carol?" he asked quickly.

"What?" Merle felt the breath choke up inside himself and he glanced at Daryl quickly, wondering what the hell he was asking, but he saw the even expression on his brothers face and he let the breath out softly.

"I can go get her if ya need her," Daryl insisted.

Oh...Merle wanted her all right, and it had nothing at all to do with bandages and antibiotics and shit. He hadn't had wanted her around at first- had resented her fussing over his ass when he was powerless to do any fucking thing about it, but now he had gotten used to her being around. To his initial horror and surprise he found that even though she irritated the shit out of him at times when she _was_ there-when she wasn't? He missed her. He'd want her to come back for the most stupidest of reasons, wanted her to smile at him and make him feel that he mattered. That he mattered to _her_, even though she bust his balls to the point it made him angry and embarrassed, and then she would only have to smile at him to make his heart pound and his skin ache for her touch, no matter how goddamned brief it was.

Merle narrowed his eyes and looked at his brother, swallowing quickly, "Nah, I ain't needin' her for nothin'," he lied.

...

The sun was so bright it hurt his eyes, making him squint slightly against the bright onslaught that flared red behind his eyeballs. His face throbbed because of the squinting, and he had squinted because of the stupid sunlight and it made him feel altogether pissed off. His shoulder ached with every movement, and that was pissing him off, as much as the tight bandage around his stump, and he glared hatefully at those bandages-at the lack of his prosthetic arm. His hand ached too and as he glared at the sun, he couldn't recall ever feeling so goddamned useless.

He wasn't supposed to be out of his bed, out of his cell, especially after what happened the day before, but he had taken advantage of a moment alone to escape. Again. The frustration of just sitting on his ass all day was giving him mild cabin fever, and he desperately wanted to do something, any damned thing. He was sick of feeling useless, like a fucking cripple. He'd thought that getting outside in the sun would cheer him up a little, but it had done the reverse. He was feeling downright miserable and sore, and at any moment, nurse fucking Carol would be out looking for him to berate his miserable ass.

He looked up as he heard the squeal of a door hinge and he stifled back a groan as he saw her head pop around. _Shit__-t__here she fucking was_. He watched her gloomily as she stepped further out, pulling that hideous long assed grey woollen thing she'd taken to wearing in the coolness of the autumnal air. Her eyes narrowed and as she frowned at him, he felt his mouth pull downwards sullenly. He stiffened his body, trying not to wince at the shooting pains, and readied himself for the verbal onslaught he knew was coming any minute now.

"_What_ are you doing out here?" Carol glowered as she hastened across to him. "I've been looking for you. You know you shouldn't really be out here, especially on your own Merle, not after yesterday."

_Huh. There it fucking __was_. He said nothing, choosing to turn his head from her to inspect the puffy little white clouds floating high across the light blue of the sky.

"What do I have to do to keep you in your bed?" she asked raising her eyebrows at him.

Merle smirked at that, he had a few damn good ideas, and judging from the look on her face, she'd only just realized what she'd said.

A faint pink hue tinted her cheeks, and she crossed her arms over her chest. "It's cold," she admonished him gently.

He huffed, took no genius to work that fucking out. He peered at her, her breath misting thinly into the air like a puff of steam from a frosty frigid dragon. He smiled at that, then winced as he felt the tightness pull at his mouth, tasting the blood as he burst the cut along his lip. The smile faded and he leaned forward, spitting a gobbet of bloodied saliva on to the concrete.

She rushed across to him and he froze as he felt both of her hands at his temples, gently pulling his head up to hers. Her blue eyes danced across his face, narrowing again as she saw the spots of blood on his lips and chin and before he could pull his head away, she was swatting at his skin with the cuff of the woollen monstrosity.

"Fuckin' leave it alone," he hissed, trying to pull his head away, glaring at her as she pushed his head back towards her firmly with one hand. "Ain't no goddamned baby."

"Then quit acting like one Merle. Jesus," her eyes dropped from his face and before he could retort back, she was leaning over him, her hand tugging at his sling, her fingers slipping under the material and readjusting it at his neck.

He swallowed thickly at the feel of her fingers at his skin, the way her touch sent little sparks that warmed his body and other places further south...and he shifted his head irritably, trying to inch away from her. His eyes dropped forwards, and he was suddenly very intrigued at that little dirt grimed blue vest that she wore-that gaped open ever so invitingly at her front. He wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he took full advantage of her adjusting the sling, scooting his head a little further so she could tug the material at the nape of his neck, all the while his eyes peering greedily down her top. His mouth went dry as he spied the soft swell of her pale breasts held loosely in a battered old black bra, the material doing nothing to hide the vision before his eyes. He licked at his dry lips as he drank in the sight like he was dying of thirst in the desert, and he thought what he wouldn't give to shove that flimsy material aside and take a closer inspection with his eyes and mouth.

His head was pulled up abruptly and he felt her hands on his temples again, and he growled deep in his throat despite himself. He couldn't help but smirk as he saw those pretty blue eyes of hers widen, the light pink sheen that flushed across her cheeks again. She shook her head at him, then let him go while pulling the cardigan tighter about herself and sitting next to him on the bench.

"You had us worried yesterday," she said quietly, glancing at him.

He refused to met her gaze, and as much as he tried to think about what had happened, the more it eluded him. He'd had a vague memory of being at the fences, then next his brother was there and he'd hit out at him. Shame and remorse filled him at the thought.

He did remember why he'd been out there though-he remembered wanting a cigarette and not fucking well having one. Sitting up in his seat, he reached into his pants pocket, trying to tug the battered cigarette packet out, hissing irritably when his fingers slipped past them. It was damned fucking awkward trying to do it with just two damned fingers and thumb, the bandage hindering the full use of his hand. He frustratedly delved into his pocket again, knowing that she was leaning towards him, and he didn't have to look at her to see the concern on her face. Finally he got a grip on the packet and eased it out triumphantly, his fingers slipping on the cellophane wrapper and he watched as the cigarette packet tumbled to the floor, his grip awkward and stupid. He sighed angrily, kicking at the packet on the floor with one foot while trying to pull the lighter from his pocket and as he watched that clatter to the floor he angrily hissed, "Cock fucking mother bitch!"

Carols hand was on his knee, and she gave his leg a brief squeeze before letting go and kneeling at his feet to pick up the cigarettes and lighter. She glanced up at him and gave him a small smile, before returning to her seat next to him. He looked away from her, thrusting his jaw out angrily, ignoring the pain that stung at his face. He couldn't even get a smoke without making himself look like a fucking useless piece of shit in front of her.

He heard the flip of the lighter, saw a little puff of smoke blow past him in the faint breeze and he turned his head sharply, his eyes widening in surprise as he saw her take a long drag from the cigarette. It dangled in her slim fingers and he watched as she raised it, watched with increasingly rapt interest as her lips parted slightly as she placed the cigarette back to her mouth. His eyes fell on her lips, and he felt the breath catch in his throat as he found himself leaning in closer to watch intently. The fucking woman was downright killing him and as he raised his bandaged hand he found to his alarm his hand trembled slightly, so he thrust it back into his lap, wincing in pain against the hurt. His heart was doing a damned odd little flutter, spiraling all the way to his stomach.

"Didn't know you smoked," he rasped thickly, cursing himself for the emotion lacing his voice. He stiffened, his eyes watching her warily.

"I did, but that was before Ed found another use for them," she said quietly, turning to face him, the small tight lipped smile she gave him not reaching her eyes.

Merle felt anger curl suddenly tight and vengeful in the pit of his stomach and he gave her a sullen look, wishing that the hateful bastard was still alive so he could beat the living shit out of him for every fucking thing he had ever done to this woman. "Ain't none ever gonna fuckin' touch you like that again, you hear me?" he spat at her. "Ain't no-one. I'll fuckin' kill 'em."

She blinked at him rapidly in surprise and then her hand was on his arm, carefully smoothing up and down briefly. He turned his head quickly away from her, his eyes flickering shut at the sensation. He wanted to reach out and touch her, to reaffirm that what he said he damn well meant. But all he could do was gaze down at his bandages ruefully.

He sighed miserably, then felt her hand drop from his arm and he suddenly held himself rigid as he felt her hand cup at his cheek, gently turning his head to face hers. He watched curiously as she placed the cigarette in his mouth, an impish smile on her face, and as he inhaled he swore he could taste her on the cigarette. The nicotine burst warmly through his veins, and he welcomed the buzz of the smoke as it sped through his blood.

"You shouldn't really be smoking those," she chided. Her hand was still resting against his cheek and he grunted as he took another long inhale, before blowing the smoke thickly from between his teeth. He let his cheek nuzzle further into her hand before twisting his head away, leaning further back into his seat, his legs straightening out before him. Goddamned that he'd missed a smoke.

Pulling the cigarette away briefly, he growled at her in amusement, "You're a bad influence."

Carol laughed brightly. "Well of all the things I've been called...but a bad influence on a Dixon?" She looked at him and smiled mirthfully.

"It's the truth sister." He raised an eyebrow mildly at her, "You can always jus' get on my lap, an' show me jus' how bad you wanna be," he smirked at the look on her face, the way her eyebrows shot upwards. "Hell, I'd let you have yer evil way with me."

She pursed her lips at him delicately before answering, and he thought he could see that slight blush tinge her cheeks again. "Really Merle."

He shrugged, then momentarily winced at the gesture. "Jus' saying what we're both thinkin', darlin'," he smiled, dragging on the cigarette before throwing it to the floor.

"You sure you didn't smack your head?"

Merle shifted slightly in his seat so he could face her better. "Ain't nothin' wrong with my head," he growled.

"I should let Hershel check you out," she teased.

"Huh. Don't need no ole man to 'check' me out. Much rather you do that. I ain't got no objections to that, none at all."

She smiled at him wanly, "I think maybe he should-"

"Fuck," Merle hissed, "You'd let me at the mercy of an ole senile veterinarian? Next I'd know he'd try an' fuckin' castrate me. An' that ain't gonna happen darlin', no way."

Carol looked at him thoughtfully, "Hershel has a lot more experience than I do."

"I prefer your bedside manner. An' your a damned sight prettier than he is. Reckon I 'bout fancy my chances with you." He couldn't help but smirk at her expression.

"You do?" she asked, glancing at him in surprise. "Well I don't know about-"

"I don't think 'bout kissin' him," Merle blurted out suddenly. He froze as soon as the words slipped out of his mouth.

Mentally he slapped himself upside the head, wondering what the hell had possessed him to say that. It was stupid, so stupid. The damned woman had finally gotten under his skin, and he'd never let _any_ bitch do that to him before. Women had never really meant much to him at all, he'd only ever used them as an escape, as a release, and he was damned to hell that he'd ever actually let any of them get anywhere near him emotionally.

But, this with _her_? It was different, and he was starting to feel at a complete loss how to react, how to cope, and he almost hated her for that, for making him feel this way, clumsy and weak.

Silence fell heavily between them and as she turned to face him, he was stunned to see the earnest little look she shot him. He felt heat flush across his skin and he chewed at his lip, ignoring the sting of his mouth. The air between them sang suddenly and vibrantly, but he was damned if he knew what the hell it was all about. His heart fluttered in his chest and his hand fidgeted uncomfortably at his side. He groaned inwardly. Fucking hell, the thought of a damned kiss from her and it was turning him in to a soft headed pussy. Might as well just go and call himself Daryl, and save himself a whole lot of grief.

She sighed, her hands twisting restlessly and falling across her knees. "Don't stay out here too long Merle."

He frowned at her sullenly, "Don't need no bitch tellin' me what the hell to do, sweetheart."

She stood up abruptly and leaned across to him, her hand reaching out to his chest and snagging his shirt in her hand. His eyes widened as she pulled his shirt pocket open, dropping his cigarettes into it. Her hand smoothed delicately across his chest to rest lightly on his shoulder. She paused then, staring at him with an unfathomable expression, before reaching her other hand out and brushing her fingers softly across his cheek. Suddenly she leaned towards him again and planted a soft kiss to his mouth.

He couldn't help but flinch in disbelief at the contact, at the feel of her lips warm and unexpected against his. Cautiously, he kissed her, all the while his heart stupidly clamoring in his chest. Her hand was on his cheek, and he fought back the rising panic that this shouldn't be happening, he couldn't let it happen, no matter how badly he wanted it.

He pulled away from her reluctantly, watching her closely. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were fixed on his, a small smile playing about her mouth as she trailed her fingers down his skin, before pulling her hand back.

She shook her head at him mildly, "Quit the crap Merle. And get your sorry ass back inside before I go and get Daryl to do it. I'm _sure_ he wont be as nice about it as I am."

Merle was aware that his mouth was hanging open in surprise and he snapped it tightly shut, watching narrowly as she turned and walked away from him. His lips still tingled pleasantly from their kiss. She stopped briefly to look back at him and smile, and he let out a shaky sigh as he watched the door close shut behind her, all the while wondering what the hell had just happened.

…


	23. Chapter 23

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.**

_a/n: I wanted a little kinda light-hearted moment or two, before the shit hits the proverbial fan, and it goes back to the angst._

* * *

_..._

"I can fuckin' manage blondie, get the hell out'a here!" Merle rasped irritably as Andrea grasped his duffel bag. He stood swaying slightly on his feet, the sling about his arm and neck cradling his bandaged stump tightly to his chest. He shook his head, watching as she continued to ignore him. "I mean it. Get the fuck out!" he snapped angrily.

Carol pursed her lips in amusement as she watched them, her eyes meeting Andrea's as the blonde woman looked towards her and rolled her eyes.

"Fine! Do it your way." Andrea dropped the bag at his feet and stomped away from him.

"Do goodin' women ain't good for shit," Merle said as he stooped to wrestle the bag from the floor. His hissed as he tried to grip the thick handles with his bandaged hand. "Oh, for fuck's sake!"

Andrea turned away from him and started to walk towards Carol. She paused briefly, glancing over her shoulder, "As you said Merle, us women 'ain't good for shit'," she called back to him.

"That was mean," Carol smirked.

"He asked for it, stubborn asshole. I don't know how you do it Carol, putting up with him. Hell, you must have the patience of a saint," Andrea grimaced as she ran a hand through her unruly hair.

"Oh I don't know about that," she replied, watching as Merle tried grabbing at the bag again. "Having a thick skin certainly helps. And speaking of helping, I guess I should go rescue him, the poor thing."

Andrea laughed, "Poor thing? Good God Carol, just how sweet on him are you?"

Carol was aware that her cheeks were starting to burn, and she tried to avoid the question looming in Andrea's blue mirthful eyes.

"Oh, go on...spill," Andrea prodded further.

"Am I that transparent?" Carol asked eventually.

"Not really, but you have been spending a lot of time with him. You can tell me," Andrea nudged her arm and raised an eyebrow at the look on her face. "Oh."

Carol glanced at her, "A little, I guess," she admitted reluctantly.

Andrea laughed, "A little? Okay Carol. I'm just surprised. I mean, _him_ of all people?"

She looked at the blonde woman and shrugged delicately, "He isn't so bad." Suddenly she found she didn't want to discuss him, but Andrea's words annoyed her. Merle had caused so many problems to so many people, and it seemed that not many saw him in the same light that she did. "He just needs a chance, Andrea. We've _all_ done bad things and I know that he has too, okay...maybe more than most, but it doesn't mean that he doesn't deserve the same chance as everyone else. There is a good man there, if you dig deep enough."

Andrea was gazing at her with a suddenly intense expression. "Maybe so. But not everybody has someone like you backing their corner either. I didn't mean any offense Carol, and I'm sorry if you thought I did."

Carol dragged her eyes away from Merle, glancing quickly behind her. She could hear Rick struggling in his cell, heard him cursing as he wrestled with trying to dismantle and pack away Judith's travel cot. She felt her lips pull up into a small smile. "I think Rick needs a hand."

"Oh, I thought Michonne was all over that," Andrea smirked.

Carol frowned, not altogether getting at what Andrea was implying. "Michonne's outside with Daryl and Glenn, packing the cars."

Andrea shook her head, gazing at Carol humorously. She opened her mouth to speak, then just smiled instead. "Okay. I get the hint." She gestured with her arms, "I'm gone!"

She watched as Andrea hastened across to Rick's cell, and listened for a moment as Rick reluctantly accepted her offer of help. She found that she couldn't help but smile. Her gaze drifted back across to where Merle was, and she felt her heart twist as she saw that he was stood there silently observing her. She blushed a little at the look he gave her, and she swatted at her skin ruefully, wishing that she could cool the warmth of her cheeks.

It hadn't really been that long ago since she had kissed him...and the memory of it still burned largely in her mind. She didn't know what had possessed her to do it, and even though she felt no regret over it, she still felt torn in her mind. She was attracted to him, she couldn't deny that, and she wondered if the attraction was mutual. She wondered if it was enough for...and pushed the thought out of her mind as soon as it came.

Merle frowned at her as she stepped closer to him, "What was you an' blondie laughin' 'bout?" he growled irritably.

"Nothing really." She glanced up at him and felt his blue eyes smolder their way through her. She swallowed quickly as the frown etched deeper on his face. She couldn't help herself as her hand sneaked out and caught about his wrist. His gaze softened a little as he looked down at her hand on his arm. "Just, oh you know, Rick. It's the end of the world and after everything we've been through-and that man still can't dismantle a child's playpen."

"Huh," Merle grunted, but he made no attempt to shake her hand away from his arm.

She looked at him, and was aware that he was watching her just as intently as she was watching him. She swallowed quickly again, feeling the air between them vibrate strangely. Breaking away from his earnest gaze, she sighed and looked down at his duffel bag laying on the floor. "Do you really think this will work?"

Merle stepped closer to her, and without realizing it, she gripped his wrist more tightly. She glanced back at him, her eyes widening as he edged yet closer to her again. He stood with her hand still on his wrist and as he raised his arm, her knuckles brushed against his chest.

"Ain't 'xactly happy about this shit," he rasped, "An' I fail to see why I gotta go with Hershel and the kids."

"We just want you safe," she murmured.

"You mean it's 'cause I can't do shit," he hissed. He glanced down at his bandages and she could see the hurt in his eyes.

"No Merle. It isn't like that, really." His eyes dragged from his arm to meet hers curiously. She shook her head at him, "I want you safe." She tried to ignore the implication in her voice even as his eyes widened in surprise.

"Why you gotta go with Rick, and the others then?" he challenged. "What if-" He paused for a moment looking at her carefully, "What if _I_ wanted you safe?"

She brushed her thumb softly against his wrist, before letting her hand drop from his arm. "It doesn't work like that, Merle. Glenn, Maggie and Andrea are going to keep the Governor and his men back as much as they can. The rest of us? We are going to hide in the tombs. Rick has a plan. We just need you, Hershel and the kids safely out of the way. This isn't a reflection on you at all."

Merle sighed irritably, "Fuckin' Rick's always got a damned plan."

"We'll be fine."

Merle stared at her, "I _ain't_ fuckin' happy," he insisted sullenly. "Yeah...so I get to go an' hide out like a damned pussy with the ole man and the fuckin' kids, while you...you and my brother hide out with the rest of 'em assholes while the Governor comes _here_? That jus' ain't sitting right with me at all, darlin'."

Carol sighed, and shrugged. There wasn't much she could do or say. But as she looked at him, she couldn't help but fear for the worst. Daryl had been out hunting, and had found tracks and evidence that the Governor was still alive. And now Rick had a plan. But...what if Rick _was_ wrong and the Governor had already second guessed him? She glanced about the prison, suddenly seeing that they were on their own. Rick had gone with Andrea and the silence was suddenly all to painful in their absence. Merle was watching her closely, his eyes not leaving hers for one moment.

She smiled, hoping to reassure him, but she felt the doubt in her heart. There was so much that could go wrong, and she could only hope that Rick had thought this plan out a lot better than his previous ones. She didn't want anyone to risk their lives on half deluded ideals anymore.

She stiffened as Merle raised his hand and touched at her cheek, the pad of his thumb rough against her skin, and as she watched him she thought she saw the same concern mirrored in his eyes. "It will be okay," she said quietly, although she wasn't sure if she was trying to reassure herself as much as him.

"If it ain't, I swear I'll kill that fuckin' sheriff myself," he glowered.

Footsteps clattered into the cell block, and she glanced up as Michonne came into view. The other woman's eyes widened momentarily and as she smiled, Carol was all to aware that Merle and herself were stood so close together and that his hand was still resting against her cheek.

"They are waiting for you, Merle," Michonne said, still smiling at them evenly.

"Let 'em fuckin' wait," he grumbled, moving away and stooping to grasp at the duffel bag still laying on the ground.

Carol leaned next to him, knocking his hand away and ignoring the sharp look he shot her. She picked the bag up and stood waiting for him. "Your arm," she said quietly, gesturing to him.

"What?" He peered at her suspiciously, then sighing, he reluctantly did as he was told and held his arm out. She stepped nearer to him, tugging the straps over his arm, and pushing the bag up and over on to his shoulder. He glared at her as she gave the back of the duffel bag a slap with her hand and she tried not to laugh at the sour expression on his face.

He moved away, stopping and turning as he waited for her to catch up to him. They stepped through the cell block quickly, only pausing as Rick came through the door, and Carol watched in alarm as Merle strode straight over to him and bumped against Rick roughly with his shoulder, making the other man stumble and take a lurching step backwards.

"Pussy," Merle grinned as his eyes traveled across the sheriff. "Grown a spine yet, huh?" Rick chose not to answer, only glaring at him heatedly, and Merle chuckled, "Thought not."

Carol caught Merle's elbow in her hand, and narrowing her eyes at him, she pulled him along with her, ignoring Rick as he stood there watching them a little too thoughtfully. The last thing she wanted right now was an altercation of any sorts, and it felt like Merle wouldn't take too long before he'd be itching for a fight. She was only glad that Rick for his own sake, had chosen to remain silent.

"Can't I have a little fun? Fuckin' idiot is beggin' to be knocked on his ass." Merle was still smirking as he looked back to her.

She pursed her lips and stared at him, raising her eyebrows. "I think there's more pressing matters at hand, and knocking Rick on his ass isn't one of them right now."

Merle frowned at her, "Whatever. But I'm tellin' ya darlin', this shit ain't sitting right with me. Rick decides crap and we all gotta go along with it? Fuck."

"It's how it is," she replied.

He grunted in reply as they neared the door, and she stood there, watching as he pushed the door open. "You better be okay," he growled, looking over his shoulder and frowning at her.

"Daryl will be with me, and Rick and Michonne. It _will_ be okay," she sighed a little, wondering at the fact that it seemed that he was worrying about her.

He hesitated at the door for a few moments, and chewed the inside of his cheek thoughtfully before turning back to her and quickly pressing his lips to her temple. Her heart fluttered widely in surprise at the sudden gesture, and he gave her a curt nod of his head before turning away and shoving the door open, then striding determinedly through it.

She took a deep breath as she stepped out after him into the cool bright sunlight. Hershel was stood leaning on his crutches next to the Hyundai, Beth and Maggie close to him. Glenn had his arms banded around himself, watching them intently. She thought that both Maggie and Glenn looked strange wearing the full padded black prison riot gear, rifles strapped across their backs.

"Look after daddy, Bethy," Maggie said as she pulled her sister into a fierce hug.

Beth smiled and rested her head on Maggie's shoulder, her own arms tight around her. "I will. Be careful Maggie, look after Glenn."

Carol couldn't help but smile sadly at the small family unit, and she felt a tear prickle as Hershel hobbled over to them and awkwardly wrapped his arms around both of his daughters, while leaning on his crutches. She let her gaze sweep across past them, saw Carl with Judith wrapped tightly in his arms, and she thought wistfully how much the boy had grown in the time she had known him. He was no longer the small boy playing with Sophia in the dirt of the quarry-he was now a gangly limbed youth with an inner strength that most his age would never dream of, or possess.

Daryl was stood close to Merle, and she felt her heart tug as she saw Merle band an arm about his brothers shoulders, the way Daryl grinned back at him.

The farewells were brief, and she watched as they climbed into the small car, Beth squeezing into the back seat with Carl and the baby, Merle into the passengers side. Rick and Michonne had come out of the cell block, and Rick was now leaning through the opened car door, one hand tenderly stroking Judith's small chubby cheek. She watched as Carl leant forward and let his father give him a brief hug.

Daryl came across and stood to her side, and she watched the car pull slowly away. Rick and Michonne pulled at the gate to let them through, and she fervently hoped that they would be all right. Her eyes followed the small car until it was out of sight, and she found that she couldn't help the small tired sigh escape her.

Daryl nudged her gently with his hand, watching her with an intense fiery expression. "He'll be fine Carol," he said quietly. "I know ya worry about my brother, but he'll be fine."

She glanced away from him, her eyes traveling down the empty track that the car had driven. "I hope so Daryl," she said.

Rick was pacing impatiently, one hand sweeping through his hair. His eyes raised and caught Maggie's and Glenn's. "Where's Andrea?"

Glenn rolled his eyes, "She...err, well she wasn't exactly happy about wearing the riot gear."

"That's an understatement Glenn," Maggie almost laughed.

"She's already in position Rick, just waiting for us, I guess," Glenn said.

Rick stared at the gate, his hand flexing before hovering over the gun at his waist. He turned to them, his eyes flickering across them all, before resting on Daryl. "Alright. Let's get this done."

Daryl's hand touched briefly at her arm, "C'mon," he said and she glanced once more at the gates, before turning and following him back into the cell block.

...

It seemed to take a while for her eyes to adjust to the dark dank corridors of the cells after standing outside in the brightness of the autumnal sun. Her heart was doing a nervous dance in her chest, and as she walked along side Daryl, she couldn't help at the doubt gnawing at her insidiously again.

Their feet clattered heavily in the silence, every minute noise echoing back harshly-she could hear the metallic ting as Michonne sheathed her katana a few feet from where they were.

"Alright," Rick breathed quickly, "Daryl and Carol-hang back here. Michonne and I will head them off at the next corner." He chuckled harshly, the sound whispering back to them in the thick silence. "Have one or two surprises that Governor won't be expecting."

Carol drew the pistol from her waist and gripped it firmly, "Just be careful Rick."

"We will," he answered distantly, the click of his boots diminishing as he moved further away. "Daryl, you know to give out the distraction."

"Mhm," Daryl grunted, and bumped against her arm suddenly as he fidgeted with his crossbow.

"Okay," Rick called out, and then they were gone. She listened as they moved carefully through the corridors, their footfalls receding.

The silence was almost deafening, and she thought she could hear her heart thudding tremulously in the stillness. She licked her lips nervously, just wanting it all to be over, and fearing what could happen-what could go wrong.

"You a'right?" Daryl whispered close to her, and she felt his breath tickle at her ear.

Carol nodded, then realized stupidly that he couldn't quite see her in the blanketing darkness. "Yeah. Will be after all of this. I guess we just wait now?"

Daryl tapped her arm, "C'mon, follow me."

She followed him a short distance, and leaned her shoulder to the cool wall, her ears alert for any sound. Daryl shuffled quietly next to her. The waiting felt like it was the worst part, and she found that the more she thought on it, the more she wondered on the possibilities of things going wrong, so she tried to calm her mind.

It felt like they'd lost all track of time as they waited quietly, and she frowned as she thought she heard the jarring creak of a cell door opening. Glancing towards Daryl's direction, she knew then that he had heard it too, because he was shifting his weight from next to her, his boots softly gliding across the floor, and she marveled at the fact that he could move so stealthily and not make a sound.

Suddenly noise burst out abruptly, and she saw the dim arcing glare of a flash grenade nosily and brightly come from behind them, and she realized that was one of the surprises that Rick had held back. Daryl grasped the nearest cell door and clanged it loudly, and she tightened her grip on the gun as she heard frantic yelling and a multitude of booted feet stomp quickly and carelessly throughout the block.

She jumped when a hand descended on her shoulder as her eyes tried to readjust to the sudden dimness again, and she bit back a curse as she felt Daryl tug at her arm, pulling her backwards to where Rick and Michonne had gone.

Rick was panting slightly, and as he spoke, Carol thought she could hear the smile in his voice. "They're gone. We need to wait a few more moments, let Glenn and the others drive them back."

"Plan worked, Rick," Daryl grunted.

"We don't know that yet," Rick answered hesitantly. "A few moments, then we'll know for sure. Keep alert."

Michonne huffed in the darkness and Carol almost smiled at the sound. It seemed that the other woman was feeling as impatient as she felt herself.

Time dragged on again, and they stood silently, waiting.

"Gotta be a'right now Rick?" Daryl eventually asked as he clenched the crossbow in his hands.

Rick flicked on his flashlight, the sudden beam bouncing off the walls, casting thick shadows all about them. "Yeah, come on. Let's get out of here," he agreed.

…

Maggie, Glenn and Andrea were jubilant, and Carol found that she could hardly blame them. The Governor had been forced back, and as Maggie had put it 'he'd high-tailed it out of there'. The prison grounds were a mess though, several of the watch towers were partially destroyed, the gates now leaning propped against the entrances, walker's bodies littering the field beyond. But it was all salvageable.

She couldn't quite believe that they had beaten him back. Carol hoped that it was the last that they would see of the Governor. The others were gathered in the courtyard and she hadn't been paying much attention to what was being said, and as she focused her attention back to them, she felt disbelief flow through her when she realized that they were going to go after the Governor immediately, track him down and finish it.

When she'd been asked though, she had agreed to the idea. She hadn't been so keen to hear that Rick, Michonne and Daryl were going after him. It seemed that the day was growing longer by the moment, and she wished that if they had to go, then they would find him, and kill him and finally put an end to this constant threat that had been hanging over their heads unceasingly. They all needed time to recover now, time for a little peace to reign back at the prison. The Governor had to die, and it was as simple as that.

She glanced up at the sound of a car, and Maggie and Glenn rushed across and tugged at the propped gate, allowing the small car entry into the courtyard. She felt a wave of relief as the car pulled to a stop, and the doors flung open. Merle got out of the car first, followed by Hershel, and she frowned at the look on their faces. Neither of the men were smiling, instead they were both watching Carl intently as he got out of the car.

Something had happened, and she wasn't sure what.

...


	24. Chapter 24

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.**

* * *

...

"So, what happened out there?"

Merle glanced irritably to his side, and saw Andrea staring back at him. She had a curious half smile on her face.

"Lost your tongue?" she smirked, crossing her arms casually over her chest. She leaned against the wall, watching him fixedly.

"Ain't you got some place to go blondie?" he questioned, looking away from her to where his brother stood next to his old bike. Daryl was going out on a run with Rick and Michonne to track down the Governor, and Merle hated the fact that he was being left behind yet again. He had more rights than some for wishing to track the bastard down and fucking kill him.

Andrea scuffed the toe of her boot, "Guess I'll go and ask Carl what happened."

"Leave the fuckin' kid alone, it ain't none of your business," he rubbed at his cheek with his hand irritably. He needed to shave-his stubble was growing at an alarming rate, not that he could do much about it right now.

He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes trailing over to where he could see Carl sitting on one of the many picnic tables scattered across the courtyard. The boy had his head hung down, and was kicking out one leg, the heel of his shoe thudding intermittently.

"Didn't think you were the caring type Merle, looking out for Carl," Andrea replied tersely.

"I ain't." He watched as Carol came out of the cell block, watched as she gave him a small smile, before turning from him to walk towards his brother. He knew she'd start worrying about Daryl, but Merle knew he would be fine. If anyone could look out for themselves-it was his baby brother. Daryl was more resilient than a lot of them realized, himself included.

He glanced up sharply at the sound of boots clicking near to him, and watched warily as Andrea stood close, her shoulder almost bumping against his.

"Do you think they will find Philip?" she asked quietly.

Merle glanced at her, "Fucked if I know. Hope they do." His gaze narrowed, "Hope they find that son of a bitch Brownie too." He still had the bruises to show for what that bastard Martinez had done to him. A prickle of anger surged through him. They'd been his comrades, the next best thing to friends that he'd had in a long time, and it had all gone to shit so damn quickly.

Andrea sighed, "I should have ended it. You know I had the chance, twice."

He looked at her sharply, "Twice? Ya should have killed the fucker-"

"You mean when you went out like the lone ranger, right?" She laughed bitterly, "That was a stupid move Merle, it was stupid and reckless."

"Didn't see anyone else gonna do shit 'bout it. Bunch'a pussies. I did what I had to do," he spat. "Ain't none gonna put that on me. Yeah, maybe you being there changed things I know, I ain't stupid. But jus' cause you were? Don't be expectin' me to go kissing your ass in fuckin' gratitude."

"Ever gracious as always Merle," Andrea quirked an eyebrow at him. "I did save your life."

"An' I ain't never asked you to do that." He pushed himself away from her, "We're done here blondie. Go an' annoy some other fucker."

He ignored her as he walked over to where his brother and Carol were waiting, and he tried to ignore the sudden pain in his head as it pulsed and throbbed. He felt a wave of familiar dread prickle over him, in the way that his ears seemed to pick every single goddamned sound as if it reverberated through his skull.

He felt tired. Old and tired.

"You'll be careful Daryl. Promise me?" Carols voice broke through his thoughts, her words soft and gentle.

"Pfft, you fuss too much woman," Daryl answered.

Merle's gaze drifted downwards. Her hand was on his brother, and he watched as her fingers stroked against the shoulder of his leather vest. "If ya catch the bastard little brother? Don't make it quick. Make the cunt suffer."

Daryl paused as he stood with one hand resting against the bike. He stared for a while, before nodding solemnly, "I will Merle. I'll do that for ya, bro."

He found he wanted to say,_take care__ baby brother..._ but he wouldn't-he _couldn't_, so the words dried in his throat before they'd even found his tongue. Instead, he cuffed Daryl lightly across the back of his head.

Daryl smirked at him, "You too, brother."

Merle stepped back almost indignantly, "Get the fuck out'a here, man."

He didn't miss the soft warm look that Carol gave him.

…

"I couldn't take the chance. I didn't kill the walker that killed Dale. Look what happened."

"Son, that is not the same thing," Rick breathed.

"You didn't kill Andrew, and he came back and killed Mom. You were in a room with the Governor, and you let him go. And then he shot Merle, almost killed him. I did what I had to do, Dad. Now go, so he doesn't kill anymore of us."

Merle backed away slowly. He didn't want to hear this conversation between Rick and his son. He knew all to well what had happened. He'd been there. He'd seen that Woodbury kid surrendering, lowering his weapon, then Carl popping a bullet through his brain.

Rick had followed Hershel into the cell block, and Merle presumed it was for the old man to rat out on the kid. He knew the old man was a lot more disgusted and shocked than he actually was, and he thought that shit was kinda ironic for an old coot that had kept a barn full of dead relatives.

And now...now Rick was berating his son for what he'd done. Like Rick had any fucking clue what was happening-what had happened out there. He could act all high and fucking mighty, but the truth of it was, Rick had done worse. No wonder Rick Jr was following in his daddy's footsteps.

He had to admit though. Rick fucking Junior had surprised him. The kid had a whole lot more balls than his old man did.

He reached into his pocket and pulled his cigarettes out, lighting one awkwardly. He glared at the thick padding on his hand. Stupid fucking bandages. Taking a long drag of the smoke, he closed his eyes briefly to the feeling of nicotine, and wished not for the first time, for something a lot damn stronger. The itch clawed at him, the itch that he remembered from old. The aching release and relief to be free from all the goddamned shit that he was powerless to stop.

His head pounded.

Merle sighed, he felt damned if he was going to be left behind like a cowering pussy anymore. It was time to get his ass back into gear and put a fucking stop to all those pitying glances and looks as if he didn't fit any goddamned equation no more.

He only needed an accomplice to help him get rid of these fucking damned hateful bandages and shit. He smirked and raised an eyebrow as he glanced at the boy in the sheriffs hat.

…

He stayed in the courtyard long enough to see his brother off, and long enough to see that asshole sheriff drive off with Michonne, before turning and making his way back into the prison.

Maggie was in the kitchenette area, preparing food, and as he walked past her, she glanced at him warily. It fucking ticked him off that she still felt like that, he could almost feel the hostility flowing from her, but then she surprised him by giving him the smallest begrudging smile he thought that he'd ever seen in his life. He only narrowed his eyes in response and inclined his head slightly.

Let her think what the fuck she would, he couldn't give a shit about her. What was done was done, and there was nothing that could change that-it was high time for her to get over her fucking self. He cast his eyes about the room looking for her siamese twin, shrugging when he couldn't see him. Glenn was probably out doing some shit around the prison. Suited him damned fine. As long as he kept out of his fucking way, there would be no fighting. Although he found he wouldn't have minded that so much-at least he would have been able to blow off a little steam.

He made his way towards his cell, huffing in irritation, and then he saw him. Carl was heading towards the main cell doors, a bunch of keys in his hand. Merle paced stealthily across to where the kid was stood.

"Say, boy. Ya seen Hershel, or Carol?"

Carl spun on his heels, the keys jangling in his hands, and Merle had to bite down the small laugh at the way the kids eyes had widened largely in surprise. Carl shook his head, "I think...Carol is with Beth doing laundry, but I'm not sure where Hershel is."

At least Carol was out of the way for the time being, and that suited him just fine, right now. "I...uh, need yer help, if ya got the time?"

The kid locked the door, then thrust the keys into his pocket. "Sure."

Merle inclined his head towards his cell, "Need ya to come with me." He didn't stop to wait to see if Carl was following him, he just headed off towards his cell.

He sat on his bunk, watching as Carl came and stood in the doorway, the boys bright blue eyes fixed unblinkingly on his own.

"Ya see kid, I have a dilemma. An' I need your help," he gave the boy a small smile, hoping to put the kid at ease.

"Of course," Carl answered curiously, "What's the problem?"

"I seen ya lookin' at the lil blondie girl, Beth. You like her, right?" Merle rasped, watching as the boy paused before nodding reluctantly. It amused him to see the way the kids cheeks flushed suddenly and vividly red. "Well, here's how I'm seein' it kid. Right now, yer word means shit all to her ole man. Especially after that crap that went down in the woods. Ain't none gonna believe anythin' ya gonna say right now. Comprende?"

Carl's eyes narrowed warily, and he reached out his hand and pushed back the brim of the sheriffs hat with one finger.

"Well, ole man Hershel got some shit I need, and I ain't about gonna go an' embarrass myself by going to get it. So, say why don't you go to the ole mans cell, get that first aid kit he hides and bring it to me, and I won't tell the ole man you been behavin' inappropriately to his lil girl."

"I haven't done anything," Carl said frowning.

"I know that, an' you know that, but Hershel knows jack shit. Who's he gonna believe right now, huh?"

He watched as Carl glared at him for a moment, before turning on his heel and stepping out of his cell. He listened to the kids footfalls echo down the corridor.

It wasn't so long before the kid was back, the first aid box clamped firmly in his hands. "C'mon in, I ain't gonna bite ya, Carl," Merle watched as the boy nervously stepped into his cell. "Now, ya gonna help me get this fuckin' thing off'a me," he gestured with his hand to the sling.

Carl narrowed his eyes, but stepped forwards, placing the kit on the bunk next to Merle, before reaching out and tugging at the knots about his neck. Merle felt a sigh of relief as the tight bindings eased from around his neck.

He shrugged the boys hands off as he reached up with his bound hand and pulled the hateful sling from off himself, before throwing it into the corner of his cell. He even smiled back at the kid, nodding. "Now these," he inclined his head towards the thick padding about his hand. "I need my hand, goddamn it, boy," he hissed as Carl looked to him questioningly. He raised his bandaged stump, "Can't 'xactly do it myself."

The kid took his hand, and started loosening the thick bandages.

"I heard ya talking to yer ole man, an' I gotta say, he was wrong."

Carl glanced up at him in surprise. He shrugged, "My dad is angry with me for shooting that boy."

Merle watched him thoughtfully, "You were protecting yer own, right?" He saw Carl nod. "Don't let anyone tell you any different, kid. You were protecting your blood. Don't feel no shame in doin' that, ever."

"My dad doesn't see it that way," Carl said sadly. He raised his head, and Merle felt surprised that the kid met his own gaze rigidly. "I did what I thought was right. I had to. I lost my mom, I wasn't going to lose my sister."

"You did right, boy. That kid had a gun. How the hell were ya to know different. Your dad-he don't see the bigger picture like we do. To get by in this world, we gotta do shit to survive. I would've done the same damn thing you did if I thought it'd protect my little brother."

Merle glanced down at his hand as he felt the tight pressure ease off from about his hand. For the first time, he saw the wound on his hand-and it made him feel sick.

There was a bloodied semi circle weal at the side of his hand, marred by angry blackened stitching. He shook his head angrily. Fucking Philip fucking Blake had all too goddamned well left his mark perpetually on him. When...it healed, he would have that fucking man's teeth marks forever etched thickly into his skin.

"Shit," Carl hissed. He glanced up at Merle, and he felt sickened to see the horror and pity in the kids eyes.

Merle sighed, "Could'a been worse."

"What do you want me to do now?" Carl looked at him.

"See 'em band-aids?" he watched as Carl rifled through them, "No, the bigger ones," he spat as Carl held a pitifully small band-aid up to him. The boy rummaged until he found the largest in the pack. "Yeah, wrap it round that bite, an' bandage it with them thinner strappin's."

He leaned against the wall as Carl did as he was told. "Ya know kid? We do what we gotta do to survive. An' even if that means killing others that we see as a threat." Merle shook his head, "Don't feel ashamed, an' don't doubt yerself kid. You know what ya feel is right-so you do it. Jus' don't let yer ole man tell you any different. Do what ya gotta do to protect your own. Biters ain't the only threat we face. People can be worse. A lot worse."

Carl glanced up at him, and nodded. He finished securing the bindings, and Merle flexed his hand. It still stung like a bitch, but it was finally good to have use of his fingers again. In the morning, he would pit himself against a few biters, see if he could grasp a knife. Then...maybe he wouldn't feel so goddamned fucking useless. The pain in his shoulder flared, and he knew it would be a while before he would be able to have use of 'lil Merle'. But he was getting there. At least now, he hoped he'd finally be able to defend himself without having to rely on anyone.

"Ya did good kid," he said as Carl closed the first aid kit. He watched as the boy nodded at him, before he moved to the doorway.

Carl gazed at him unblinkingly again for a few moments, before answering, "You didn't have to try and blackmail me, Merle. I would have helped you, you know."

Merle couldn't help but laugh ironically as the kid left.

…

Now that he'd sorted his hand and arm out, the urge to see Carol itched at him. His heart pounded a little too much at the thought, but he tried to ignore it as he cautiously stepped his way through the prison block. Maggie glanced across to him, and he felt his lip curl as he took in the Asian sat there sat regarding him quietly as he prodded a fork restlessly through the bowl in front of him.

Andrea was sat at one of the tables, her chin resting on her hands. Her eyes met his, and she rose from her seat, following him as he moved towards the outer door.

Merle frowned. He didn't want any fucker following him, as he stepped out into the cool chill air. He blinked against the darkness, his feet moving of their own accord, driving him across the courtyard to the watch tower-to where he knew Carol was keeping vigil over his brother.

He was aware that he wasn't alone, and he grimaced as he saw Andrea following him. Pausing, he turned to the blonde woman, not being able to hide his impatience. He wished that she'd just fucking go and leave him alone.

Merle sighed irritably as her voice reached him through the night air.

"Where are you going?" Andrea questioned.

"Ain't none of your fuckin' business," he rasped.

She laughed, the sound echoing in the stillness of the night. "Oh. Let me guess, Carol?"

"What the hell's it gotta do with ya, blondie?" He paused, watching narrowly as she walked closer towards him.

"So, what's the deal with her? Something going on?" Andrea turned her head, her eyes regarding him curiously.

Her lips were pulled up in a thoughtful smile, and he tried to ignore the fact that there would have been a time when he would have loved nothing more than to wipe that fucking sassy smile off her face, that he would have shoved her against the wall without any real thought or hesitation and fucked her senseless for her brazen flirtatious nature. Women like her begged to be used.

"You know you're kidding yourself about her, right?" Her eyes left his and traveled across to the watch tower.

He felt the warmth of anger start to flow steadily through him. "You don't know shit."

Andrea sighed, glancing at him quickly, "I'm just surprised. I really didn't think she was your type at all."

"You know nothin' about me sugar, so don't kid yerself that ya fuckin' do."

She only laughed in answer, and Merle decided enough was fucking enough. She was pissing him off. He glared at her before pushing himself away. She had no goddamned right to question what, or wasn't going on with Carol. No right at all.

...

Carol greeted him almost shyly, and he found that he couldn't help the sudden heavy thud of his heart at her soft look as she watched as he finally stomped his way up the steps towards her. His brain told him he was being a pussy and his heart told him different. He found then that he didn't really give a fuck. He just wanted to see her.

"How long ya been up here?" he asked quietly, although he knew that she'd been up here for a few hours, keeping her silent watch.

She propped the rifle to the wall and smiled at him, "Not long."

He couldn't help but huff at that, knowing that she was lying. "You know, Daryl can look after himself."

She looked at him, biting at her lip. "That's what he said about you Merle, and look what happened."

"I told you before sweetheart, ain't none gonna-"

"Kill Merle, except Merle. I know," she said sadly. "You can't expect me to feel better after that? Really Merle," she sighed, turning from him and leaning against the railings.

He stared at her feeling awkward and not really knowing what to do. He felt the familiar confusing ache of needing her close, and wanting her to get the hell away from him. He sighed, angry with himself and angry at her. _God fucking damn it._

"Merle? Are you all right?"

He shook his head as he looked at her. Her eyes were fixed on his in concern, and he found he didn't want her looking at him like that. Like she was feeling sorry for him. He frowned as she moved closer to him, looked at her stupidly as her hand pressed tentatively and lightly against his chest. "Don't," he warned.

Carol ignored him, instead she moved closer to him, and he felt the touch of her hand on his chest like it was burning through his skin. He glanced at her, swallowing thickly. She was looking up at him with those goddamned pretty blue eyes, staring at him like he might just actually fucking matter...and he couldn't stop himself as his arm slipped about her waist, pulling her tightly to him. He half wondered if she would push herself away from him, but as he looked at her and saw the warmth in her eyes, he cursed himself for wanting her so badly.

Her hand smoothed across his shirt, against his chest and his breath caught in his throat. He felt trapped. It felt wrong, and he knew that he should just push her off and walk the hell away while he still could. She was pressed up so firmly against him, and he wondered at the fact that she fitted so tightly and nicely against him. He leant against her, pressing his forehead to hers, all the while his heart yammering in his chest. He couldn't ever remember a woman having quite this effect on him before.

Her arms slipped about his back, one hand trailing up to the nape of his neck. He shuddered slightly against her as she trailed her fingers through his hair, her fingernails tantalizingly grazing his scalp.

Merle stared at her for a while, before lowering his head to hers, his lips brushing across hers softly. His arm tightened about her waist as she met his kiss, her mouth parting slightly as he pressed his more firmly to hers. He only just managed to suppress the growl as the tip of her tongue touched at his lips. He deepened the kiss, his tongue pressing her to part her lips so that he could slip his tongue in to investigate her further. She sighed against his mouth, and it was all he could do to stop himself from shoving her up against the wall.

'_You know Merle, you are kidding yourself about her__'__. _Andrea's words trickled back to him distantly, and he froze suddenly in horror. What the hell was he doing? She'd been here worrying and waiting for his little brother, and he was acting like selfish asshole, pushing himself on her. Andrea was right. He'd been kidding himself. After every thing he'd ever done, he didn't deserve anything, and especially something so good as Carol. She belonged to his brother, not him. He was never good for shit. She deserved alot better.

He let his arm drop from her and he backed away, swallowing quickly. She was looking at him wide eyed in confusion, and he found then that he couldn't bring himself to meet her gaze. He was an idiot. He took another step backwards.

"Merle?" Carol called out to him.

He eventually raised his eyes to look at her. She was stood with her arms banded tightly about herself, and he felt sickened with himself when he saw the tears brimming in her eyes. "I'm sorry," he choked out, turning from her quickly and stomping down the steps.

…

Merle raised his hand and swatted at his forehead angrily, as he turned towards the gates at the sound of approaching vehicles. He stood rigidly as he listened to the low steady rumble of his old bike growing nearer.

Footsteps clattered behind him, and he glanced over his shoulder to see Carol there. His heart twisted at the pained expression on her face, and he knew that look was there because he'd been such a fucking asshole and put it there.

He moved to the gate, gritting his teeth in frustration, knowing that he wouldn't be able to tug the gate open, because of his damned shoulder. He felt a hand on his arm, and glanced down at it.

"Let me help you," Carol said softly.

"Don't need no fuckin' help," he hissed.

She raised her eyebrows a little, shaking her head at him. "Oh, you do Merle. I just wish you'd let me."

He narrowed his eyes at her, wondering what she meant by that exactly. She gave his arm a brief squeeze, before stepping next to him, and pulling at the gate. He sighed, before grasping at the bars, and pulling the gate out of the way, letting his brother pass by on the bike.

Merle watched as Rick pulled up in the Hyundai, and he frowned when he saw another vehicle just behind the small car. He recognized it as one of the buses from Woodbury. He glanced at his brother questioningly, but saw that Daryl's attention was fixed on Carol. The bus pulled to a stop, and he watched as Rick and Michonne pulled the gate tightly shut.

The bus doors opened, and Merle glanced as a large black man stepped off, quickly followed by a slender black woman. He vaguely recognized them as recent additions to Woodbury, but he couldn't remember their names. Carol had moved away from his brother, and was greeting people as they stepped off the bus.

Merle felt his stomach twist and sour as he watched. Quite a few of the faces he knew of. They'd been the ones cheering loudly and claiming him to be their champion at the arena biter fights. They'd also been the same ones jeering him and calling for his death when Blake had made him out to be the traitor.

...


	25. Chapter 25

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.**

_a/n: Feeling a little nervous about this chapter._

* * *

...

It had been three days since the people from Woodbury had joined their small community at the prison, and three days since she had last seen Merle, or well, spoken to him. Frustratingly, she knew he was avoiding her-every glimpse had sent him off into the opposite direction. A few of the others had seen it too, and on more than one occasion it had seemed that Daryl wanted to say something on the matter, but one look at her face, and he had clamped his mouth firmly shut. She just wished that Daryl would say what was on his mind. Really, she had no idea how to broach the subject with him, especially when she was so unsure on how she felt about the situation as it was. All she knew was that she'd been carrying this heavy feeling in her heart for every single time his brother had turned away from her.

Rick had looked at her questioningly more than once, but she was in no mind to reveal anything to him. Unless it was the usual talks of chores, who was taking their shift of watch duties, or even to discuss how the Woodbury folks were settling in. But anything of a personal nature, she would not share with him, or with anyone. So, she had kept herself busy, and tried to ignore the ache of Merle's absence, the sting of his seemingly dismissive attitude.

The sudden influx of the Woodbury children had lightened her mind to a degree-even though seeing them had brought back one too many sorrowful memories of her own. That was a burden she kept mostly to herself, although she had seen Daryl's quick glances as she had watched them at play in the courtyard. Children were adaptable, a lot more so than the adults that watched over them.

She was watching them now, watching as the two Samuel's girls played at tag with a larger bespectacled boy, Patrick, and a few others. Their light peals of laughter rang out vividly in the sunshine, and she felt the small smile begrudgingly tug at her lips as she watched them, before her gaze drifted past and over them to where she could see Merle and Carl at the fences, taking down the few walkers that clawed through the metal links.

The smile froze on her face before it had fully formed, and she sighed. She didn't know why it surprised her as much as it did, but seeing Merle with Carl, she couldn't help but wonder what had happened for the burly caustic man to actually let Rick's son in. He was so very closed up normally, just like his brother-although Daryl now seemed to be embracing life at the prison, even with the extra burdens and responsibility. Maybe it was because Daryl had finally found his place and self worth...whereas Merle hadn't.

Her gaze drifted from them, to the field beyond. With the extra bodies and man power, the damage that the Governor had wrought was now being undone. Finally, the old main gate had been repaired, it was now just a question of getting rid of the walkers that straggled through the occasional breach in the fences. She spied in the distance Tyreese, Glenn and Maggie, and she raised her hand to her eyes against the onslaught of the bright sunlight, squeezing her eyes to gain a better view.

"Shit yeah!"

She turned her head sharply back towards the inner fences, as she saw Merle give Carl a sudden wide lazy grin, and she smiled at the sound of his voice, at the sudden carefree nature of his tone. Her heart sped up a little in her chest, and she glanced across towards him. He stood there, still and suddenly rigid and she knew then that he must have been aware that she was there watching him, and she saw the quick flash of his eyes as they met her gaze, before he turned quickly away from her again.

The tears stung hot and unbidden in her eyes, and suddenly she didn't want to be there, she didn't want to see the way he could so easily dismiss her.

Her feet thudded across the concrete, their pace matching the drum of her heart as she walked across the courtyard and back towards the prison.

She walked with her head down and almost collided squarely into Daryl before she was aware of the fact that he was even there, and if it hadn't had been for his hand snaking out and grasping her about the elbow, she wouldn't have known.

"Ya a'right?" Daryl asked softly, and she wanted to squeeze her eyes tightly shut at the sound of concern in his voice.

She reluctantly raised her eyes and saw the way that his eyes blazed at her, and she felt an ache at the fact that she wished that things could have been so much simpler than what they were.

Offering him a small smile that she didn't quite feel, she smiled tightly. "I'm fine Daryl."

He huffed a little, not sounding convinced, "Ya ain't." His hand slipped from her arm, "Still not spoken to Merle?"

"I don't think...haven't had the time," she corrected herself. "It's been kinda hectic what with the new people."

He reached into his leather vest and pulled out a bent stub of a cigarette, lighting it as she watched. The plume of smoke drifted almost lazily between them. He took another puff, before turning to her, his eyes hooded beneath his fringe of hair. "I dunno what's goin' on between y'all. But hell-he's been a miserable sumbitch, more so than usual."

"What do you want me to say?" Carol answered.

"I dunno." He took another long inhale on the cigarette, grasping it between his thumb and forefinger, before carelessly flicking the embering butt to the ground and grinding it into the ground with the toe of his boot. He was silent for a moment, and Carol feared he wouldn't answer.

"I know one thing though."

She waited with baited breath, feeling miserable. This was Daryl..and she cared for him without question. But this with his brother...Merle? She wasn't sure how to respond. She cared for Merle, and if anything... the last few days of him avoiding her had proved this to her. But she was at a complete loss as to what to do. Part of her thought it would be easier to walk away, but she wouldn't do that. It wasn't in her nature to just go and abandon anyone. She had cared for Daryl even when he had rejected her, why would it be any different for his brother?

Daryl glanced at her, "I ain't letting that bastard hurt ya."

"It isn't like that, Daryl," she said, wondering if he had misinterpreted things.

"Bullshit," Daryl spat. "I seen ya the last few days, an' you're hurting, and I know it's 'cause o' my brother. I told him...I told him I wouldn't let him hurt ya. And he went did it anyway."

"No," she insisted. "It isn't like that."

Daryl glanced at her quickly, "Why would ya say that. I seen ya the last few days, seen him too, the fuckin' jackass." He sighed nosily, "I really dunno what happened with ya both, but this can't go on. Yer both important to me. Yer both...family." Daryl glanced away from her, frowning, a slight blush creeping across his skin. "An' I told ya before, he ain't never thought of a woman with respect, but I seen him with ya, and it's different." He sighed again, scuffing his feet on the ground. "Do you care for him? I know I asked before, but ya ain't never answered me, and I think I deserve to know. Be honest with me."

Carol looked at him for a while before answering. Her heart thudded pitifully in her chest, and she glanced back towards the fence line, feeling a pang when she saw that Merle and Carl had gone. She looked at Daryl, realizing that she hadn't wanted to admit it to herself. She took a shaky breath before answering quietly, "I'm sorry. But yes. I care for Merle as much as I care for you. You're brothers, and you are both needed with us."

Daryl laughed shallowly, "That ain't what I was asking. I ain't asking about me-I'm asking about my brother."

"Don't Daryl, please," she warned. Sighing, she closed her eyes. There had been a time when she would given everything for him. She loved him, and that was without a doubt-but as time had lingered and then stretched on, she had relegated herself to the fact, that despite all her joking and gentle teasing, Daryl had never once taken the bait that she had so easily offered to him. And she had resigned herself a while ago that their relationship would never be founded on anything vaguely physical. It didn't detract for one minute what she thought of him. But this with Merle...he had woken up a part of her that she'd thought had died a long time ago, long before the turn and Ed and his fists and brutality.

She looked away from him, and felt the sudden hot sting of tears behind her eyelids. "I care for him," she admitted reluctantly. She wouldn't look at him, instead her eyes focused on the gate, and as she watched, she saw two walkers straggle their way there.

"Fix this, Carol." Daryl said quietly. "Whatever went on with you and my brother...it's making ya both miserable. I ain't stupid, I've seen it." He frowned at her, "Fix whatever shit went on between ya both."

"He wont listen to me, he wont even see me," she answered wearily.

"Then make him." He looked at her carefully, "I gotta go fer a few days. Michonne wants to track down the Governor, an' I said I'd go. I wanna find him for what he fuckin' did. But I can't go...not when this shit is going on between ya and Merle. "

"Really Daryl, don't worry. I'm sure it will fine between us. I don't want to distract you-"

"Pffft," he replied, "Already is. Talk to him Carol, try an' least put a smile on that miserable sumbitches ugly face. Hate him like this. Fuckin' asshole."

"I don't know Daryl. He wont listen to me, but...I'll try," she grimaced.

He watched her for a long moment, "Ain't gonna be long 'til we go, can ya take my shift in the tower, I told Rick I'd sort it."

She smiled a little at his sudden earnest gaze, "You know I will Daryl, without question."

Daryl almost smiled back at her, "Good."

…

Daryl had left a few hours previously, his backpack and crossbow fixed firmly to his bike. She had been reluctant to see him go, knowing damn well what that man, the Governor was capable of. But no amount of persuading would have swayed him off his mission. She had sighed regrettably as she had watched Michonne mount his bike, and she only hoped that the two of them would be safe, and knew exactly what they were doing.

Merle stood to one side, watching his brother intently, and she sighed softly to herself as she watched him. He refused to look at her, and she couldn't help but to start feel annoyed. After all, it had been him that had run out on her...

Michonne sat astride Daryl's' bike, and she felt saddened to see them go. She half hoped that they wouldn't find Blake, because if they didn't-it would mean Daryl would be safe from harm. They'd all seen what had happened to Merle when he tried to take him out on his own.

…

She watched as Merle said his goodbyes, and glanced at him sharply as he walked past her. "Merle," she breathed, watching and wondering as he paused.

"Wha?" he rasped, glancing at her quickly before looking away.

She couldn't help but feel saddened at the brief angry look he shot her, "We need to talk."

"Ain't nothin' we gotta talk 'bout," he spat back at her, and she winced at the venom in his voice. He glanced to her side, his eyes refusing to meet hers, and she couldn't help at the sad painful ache.

"We do," she said quietly.

He ignored her and pushed his way past her.

"Don't you walk away from me, no. Not this time." Her heart felt caught and tangled with the shortness of the breath in her lungs.

"I dunno what the fuck ya want from me," he barked, "But I know I _ain't_ got time for this."

Tears stung at her eyes and she swatted at them. "I...I've missed you," she said quietly.

"Missed me? What the fuck? Hell Carol-I ain't no good, I keep tellin' ya. One day you'll finally fuckin' listen."

"You're wrong, Merle," she replied softly, and he turned to look at her in surprise.

"How can ya know that?" His breath hissed in his chest, and he stood there, shifting restlessly from one foot to the other. "Ya don't know what the hell yer damn well saying," he answered tersely, and Carol thought she could hear the flat dull tone of defeat in his voice.

Sighing bitterly, she stepped a little closer to him, half scared that he would just turn on his heel and bolt away from her. "I've missed you." she insisted gently. "I don't know what is going on here, Merle- but I care about it, and I care about what happens to you."

Merle frowned at her, and it was obvious that he was going to disregard what ever the hell she was saying.

Reaching out, she caught at his wrist, her fingers grasping about his bandaged stump. He glanced down at her hand. "Ya don't know-" He had moved closer to her before she had noticed, and his hand reached out and caught about her arm roughly, pulling her close. "Don'tcha tell me shit and don't mean it," he hissed close to her ear.

He stared at her for a moment, before pushing her abruptly away from him. Grimacing, he rubbed at his face with his hand. "Ain't had no-one ever care for me before, an' that suits me jus' fine." He glared at her again before shoving his way past her and heading off towards the prison.

Carol watched him before sighing angrily. She was damned if she was going to let this go. Taking a deep breath, she followed after him. He was walking so quickly that she almost had to jog after him.

They made their way quickly through the prison block, and she was so intent on glaring at his back that she almost didn't hear Rick calling after her. She paused, turning to look at him.

"What is it?" she frowned.

"Is everything alright?" he asked, his eyes moving from hers to where Merle stomped his way through the prison.

She shook her head, "Not now, Rick."

Rick's eyes were intense and thoughtful, "Something going on? Merle...has he done something? Has he hurt you?"

"He's done nothing, Rick," she pursed her lips, before offering him a small smile at the concern showing on his face.

"You would let me know if he has?"

"Really, he has done nothing, I assure you."

Rick frowned at her briefly. "Alright." He moved away from her, "But if he has, you should tell me."

She rolled her eyes at him, annoyed that he would be so quick to assume that Merle had done anything.

…

Eventually she found Merle in the workshop, and he sighed irritably as soon as he saw her. "Quit bugging my goddamned ass, woman."

"No. We are not done, Merle," she spat back at him.

"An' I say we fuckin' well are," he rasped thickly, narrowing his eyes at her.

Carol glared at him heatedly, "Jesus...Merle. You really are a stubborn fucking asshole!"

Merle gaped at her in surprise, before laughing. "Well...I'll be goddamned."

She stiffened in anger at the sound. "You're going to _laugh_ at me?" she hissed.

He moved quickly across the room towards her and caught her arm in his hand, pulling her close to him. "I ain't laughing at ya, sweetheart," he smiled. "But shit mouse, ya got some damned balls on ya."

She felt his arms slip about her waist as she looked up at him. "I meant what I said, Merle," she said stiffly. The anger she found in herself seemed to ebb away, and she found that she just wanted nothing more than to stand here with him in the quiet and feel his strong presence around her. She sighed, before raising her hand and touching at his cheek softly with her fingers. She thought his gaze softened under hers, and she leant against his chest, her fingers cupping his chin as she leaned up to brush a brief gentle kiss to his lips.

She stood back and watched him warily, her heart pounding, wondering if he would just go and leave her like he had done before.

Merle shifted against her, and his arm tightened more firmly around her, pressing her closer. His head dropped towards hers and she felt his chin brush roughly against her cheek, his stubble raspy and his breath warm on her skin. She raised her head and looked back at him.

His gaze was fixed resolutely on hers, his smoky dark eyes boring deeply into hers, and she felt the breath catch in her throat as his eyes slowly dropped to her mouth. Her fingers trailed softly across his jaw to his throat. She felt his pulse quicken under her fingertips and before she could stop herself, she leaned up and pressed her lips firmly to his again.

He kissed her back without hesitation, his lips nothing more than a slight brush on hers, and she sensed the caution wired tightly in him. Moving from him, their noses bumping awkwardly against each other, she let her gaze meet his again. She felt a shiver of nervousness slip through her as she saw the want glowing largely in his eyes, and she slipped her hand firmly about his neck, pulling him to her.

The second time he kissed her, he wasn't so cautious, she mused, not with the way his lips met hers hard, the way his hand flew up to her head, holding her and angling her head to deepen the kiss. His mouth was hot and urgent against hers, and she moaned softly against his mouth as his tongue quickly pushed past her lips, fighting with hers. Her hand cupped at his chin, her fingers fluttering against his rough cheek.

His hand was gentle against the back of her neck, his fingers stroking her skin as his mouth moved from hers to drop small soft kisses down her jaw to her throat, and she thought that it had never felt like this with Ed-not even once, and if she was totally honest, she couldn't really ever recall being kissed quite like this at all. Her hand caught about his shoulders, her fingers skimming across his warm skin, before touching at the short hairs at the nape of his neck. His hair was soft beneath her fingers, and she splayed her fingers outwards, pressing him closer. He growled, and kissed and then nipped at her collarbone and she couldn't stop the little shudder that rippled through her. She felt, more than heard his low throaty chuckle against her skin, before his mouth caught hers again, and she gave herself over to the moment and to the urgency of his mouth moving against hers.

Reluctantly she laid her hand on his chest, and pushed herself away from him. He frowned at her, and she smiled at his expression. "I told Daryl I would take his watch shift," she explained. "And I should be going, I'm sorry."

Merle huffed but let his arms slip away from her.

She kissed his cheek before stepping away, raising her eyebrows as he followed after her. "What are you doing?"

"Comin' with ya. Ain't no big deal if two take a watch. I seen Kim-chi and Maggie do it most of the damn time."

Carol put her hand to her mouth and laughed a little, "There's a reason _why_ they do that."

"An' yer point is?" Merle raised an eyebrow and smirked at her.

...


	26. Chapter 26

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.**

_a/n: Finally, although somewhat briefly, I have got my first OC, Scott, here in this fic. _

* * *

...

"Oh, hey Carol," Glenn said as they stepped into the tower. "Merle."

Carol smiled at him, "Eventful watch?"

Merle smirked as Maggie stepped out of the small control booth, looking slightly dishevelled.

"Eh, not really," Glenn glanced over his shoulder as Maggie stood quickly behind him. "Nothing much ever happens on watch."

Maggie just looked at them and shook her head, and Merle thought that something had gone down alright, probably that lil farmers girl. "Ain't that the shame. Don't need nothin' goin' down on ya that you can't manage, ain't that right Glenn?"

Glenn gazed at him for a moment and shrugged. "Yeah. Uh, of course." He turned to Carol, "You got Daryl's shift? He always takes a longer watch, you going to be alright?"

Carol nodded, "I know."

"And it's fine?" Maggie asked glancing across to Merle curiously.

"Why the fuck wouldn't it be?" Merle barked, just wanting them to go.

"I've taken shifts with Daryl before, I know how it is. It wasn't a problem then, and it isn't a problem now." Carol answered.

"Okay," Glenn smiled at her. "I think Tyreese is up for the next shift." He moved past them, Maggie in tow, and as they passed by he looked at Merle warily, before nodding. "Need to catch some sleep I think," he said yawning a little.

Merle grinned, "Oh, I betcha do. Bet it been a good long hard afternoon of fuckin'...nothing." He was aware that Carol's hand was on his arm, trying to pull him out of the way. He looked at her and saw the little faint smirk she was trying to hide.

Maggie stared at him narrowly for a moment. "Well...guess see y'all later," she called out, as she eventually followed Glenn down the steps.

Merle felt a hand swat at his arm and he turned back to her. "What?" he asked.

Carol smiled at him then, and Merle felt his heart lift at the sight. She shook her head, "Really."

"You said it yerself, an' I reckon is why you got me to come up here with you, help ya take your shift," he smirked.

"Merle, you invited yourself," she said as she leaned against the railings, her back to him. she glanced over her shoulder, watching him.

He shrugged, "I can go if ya want. Ain't a problem-"

"No, I didn't say that. I want you to stay," she frowned at him.

He couldn't help but look at her. He had no intention of leaving, but it felt damned good to hear her ask him to stay. "I ain't going anywhere." He moved across and stood next to her, his shoulder bumping against hers. She leant towards him, resting her head against his arm, and as he looked at her, he found the breath freeze up inside his throat.

It just felt fucking odd. Weird as shit-and if he was honest with himself, the new situation he found himself in...with her, he was at a loss as to what to do. Of all the women, he never would have thought he could feel so confused in his thoughts as he did with her. He wondered if he was weak for feeling like this. He had told her that nobody had ever cared for him and that had been true. It had suited him just fine. He had never needed anyone before.

He grit his teeth as he slipped his arm cautiously around her shoulders, pulling her slightly closer to him, and he felt surprised that she didn't resist-that she even leaned back a little more into his one armed embrace. The slow thud of his heart picked up again and as he gripped the railings with his hand, he gazed across the courtyard, his eyes not even seeing the biters in the distance, beyond the fence line and bordering field.

He felt her shiver against him and he glanced down at her in concern, noticing the thin shirt that she was wearing, and the cool chill in the air. "You're cold," he said.

"A little," she sighed. "I should have wrapped up more warmly, but I guess I forgot. I kinda got preoccupied before," she smiled at him impishly.

"Huh," he grunted. He let his arm drop from her shoulder and stepped behind her, snaking his arms around her and pulling her to him. She leaned against him, the back of her head touching his chest. "I'll warm ya," he growled at her ear.

She laughed a little at that and he tightened his arms around her, his chin resting on the top of her head. He closed his eyes to the sensation that fluttered in his chest. A few days ago, he would have run the hell away from shit like this. But now, since earlier when they'd kissed, he hadn't really wanted to admit to himself just how much he had yearned for her closeness. And now that she was here-he felt completely out of his depth. As much as he wanted to run-and the terrifying need to do just that clawed at him, he wasn't going to, not like he had done before. He knew that if he did, he would blow any chance out of the water with her and he found that he didn't want that to happen. This felt like it was his last chance and he was damned to hell if he would fuck it up.

Even so, he couldn't help but muse at why Daryl had always felt drawn to her, and he would have laughed himself fucking stupid before, about the strange compulsion this little mouse of a woman had over his brother. But now? Now he knew different and he might have well been so very wrong about her. She was right- he had totally underestimated her all along.

"You're quiet. What are you thinking about?" she asked softly.

"Jus' shit. Ain't nothin' worth bothering yer pretty head about."

"Tell me?"

Merle exhaled quietly, clenching his jaw, before answering tersely. "I don't like to think. I ain't never liked to do that-blotted most of that shit away. I ain't gonna talk, so jus' don't ask."

Carol didn't answer. Instead she twisted in his arms, until she was facing him. He swallowed thickly at the warm look she gave him, the way her blue eyes shone as she looked at him. Reaching up with her hands, she cupped his cheeks, her thumbs rubbing gently at his temples, and then she pulled his head towards her, kissing him softly on his forehead. He closed his eyes briefly to the touch.

He had never understood how the smallest intimate gestures could mean the most-he used to think all that shit was for pussy assed fools, childish pointless gestures between simpering dumb as fuck idiots, but he found now that he was begrudgingly starting to understand.

He pressed a swift kiss to her mouth, half curious if he'd over stepped his mark with her. He narrowed his eyes, waiting. She didn't push him away, instead she rested her head to his chest, and Merle took that as a good sign.

He tightened his arms about her as he felt her move against him, and he bit back a gasp as her hands suddenly slipped underneath his shirt-her cold hands like ice pressing against the warmth of his skin. "Fuckin' hell, yer cold!" he hissed.

"You're hot," she laughed.

He couldn't help the grin that tugged at his mouth, "Why, thank ya for noticing, darlin'."

"Oh...God no, Merle. I meant your body is hot," she moved a little against him, and Merle felt fucked if he was going to let her slip away from him. "You're very warm to the touch," she said weakly, blushing a little and trying not to smile.

He waggled his eyebrows playfully at her, watching as she shifted her head to look up at him. He saw the blush flood vividly pink across her cheeks. "You wanna see just how hot it is? I ain't got no problem with that, c'mon, let me show you." Her eyes were glowing at him humorously and he dropped his eyes from hers to her mouth, feeling a silence stretch not so awkwardly between them. He licked at his lips, before leaning down and pressing his mouth to hers. He didn't question that she kissed him back, he just held her tighter, his hand slipping down her back to her waist. Her mouth felt so damned fine against his-so sweet, and he couldn't ever recall a woman tasting so damned fucking good.

His hand slipped from her waist to her ass, and as she moved her hips against him, he felt his dick twitch in response and he groaned against her mouth. The cool hands under his shirt slipped upwards, and he froze for a moment as her fingers touched at his scars. He pulled back from her fearfully, waiting to see the pity in her eyes.

She just gazed back at him steadfastly, before leaning in to kiss him again, and Merle couldn't help but press himself against her, letting her know just how much he fucking wanted her. Her hands clutched at him, pressing him close, and he was curious at the fact that it seemed that she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

Footsteps rattled heavily towards them, and Merle took a sudden step backwards, glancing at Carol. He felt pissed at the thought that here in the prison there was never a moments fucking peace before some asswipe would appear and interrupt whatever the hell was going on.

He saw a man standing hesitantly before him, and Merle narrowed his eyes thoughtfully as he recognized him.

"Am I interrupting something?" he asked, glancing quickly from Merle to Carol.

"Yeah, you fuckin' are. Get the hell out'a here!" Merle spat. He felt her hands slip from around his waist, and she pushed herself away from him, looking at him and shaking her head. "An' who the fuck are ya?"

"Oh, I'm Scott. I'm one of the new guys, from Woodbury." He walked towards them, "Say, I know you. You're Merle Dixon, right?"

"So fuckin' what? I don't know who the shit you are." Merle knew exactly who he was. Scott had been one of the regulars at the biter fights in Woodbury. He knew him. Loud mouthed little cunt without the balls to back up an argument. Last to a fight, and always the first to leave. Pansy assed coward. Scott had been a regular, oh yeah... Merle remembered all to well that he'd been one of the loudest voices baying for blood when the Governor had thrust his baby brother into the arena and demanded that they fight to the death. Blood against blood.

Merle glanced across as he saw Glenn suddenly appear next to the Woodbury asshole.

"Scott is here to relieve you guys from watch shift. Rick is calling a meeting," Glenn explained quickly. "He wants you both, now."

Merle ignored Glenn for the moment, his eyes focused firmly on Scott. He lunged forward, his hand curling quickly into a fist and he lashed out, catching the other man squarely on his jaw, knocking him to the ground in a heavy thudding tumble of arms and legs. Merle flexed his hand, feeling the sting of his wound, and not giving two flying fucks about it because it was worth seeing that asswipe hit the ground.

He watched smugly as Scott sat on the ground, gaping at him in confusion while he rubbed at his jaw.

"Shit...that was not cool!" Glenn hissed, his eyes wide. "Why would you do that?"

"Because I fuckin' can. Get out'a my way Chinaman, or I swear to God, yer next." He turned as he heard Carol gasp behind him. "Don't ya feel sorry for him. Idiot asked for it."

Glenn gaped at him for a moment, before stooping down and offering a hand to Scott, pulling him to his feet. He looked at Merle, then turned on his heel quickly and fled back down the steps. Merle knew then, that Glenn was going to rat on his ass to Rick.

He found that he didn't give a shit.

He strode down the steps, Carol following behind him, and he braced himself for the inevitable questions. She caught at his arm and he shrugged her off, pacing across the courtyard.

"Merle," she called out, and he stopped, turning around and waiting for her to catch up to him. "Would you mind explaining to me just what the hell that was about?" she breathed.

He shrugged, "I ain't explainin' nothin'."

She shook her head, "Don't you go and shut me out."

Merle sighed, "I ain't shuttin you out, darlin'. I jus' ain't gonna explain to ya right now." He looked at her and saw the way she had wrapped her arms tightly about herself- saw the sad little expression on her face. He frowned, the hesitancy creeping its way through him, and he moved close to her, catching her shoulder gently in his hand. He kissed her quickly. "Will explain shit later."

"You'd better," she warned.

Merle rolled his eyes, "Said I would. Hell woman, don't be going an' giving me grief." He offered her a small smile and felt relieved when she smiled back at him. "C'mon, let's go see what officer prick gotta say," he said as he pushed the door open. He waited for her to step through, before stepping quickly inside behind her.

…

Sheriff asshole looked pissed, and it made the smile on Merle's face grow wider.

Rick watched him warily, and rubbed at his eye with the heel of his hand, "Was that necessary Merle?"

"Hell yeah, it was," Merle smirked.

"We don't go round beating up on people. This isn't Woodbury. I-_we_ don't tolerate that kind of behavior here."

"What the fuck do ya know?" Merle asked indignantly. The little prick didn't know fuck all about what happened in Woodbury.

"This isn't our way."

Merle glared at him stiffly, "Oh I know all about _your_ way, officer."

Rick laughed shallowly, tilting his head slightly to the side, his eyes squinting back at him in question. "Is this about you, your hand, Merle? What happened back there in Atlanta?"

"Huh. This _ain't_ jus' about my hand no more, boy. You ain't seeing the bigger picture. I seen how you operate. Seen the damn choices you make. You think nothin' of throwing folks to the wolves. You ain't never thought through the consequences of your actions, what ya do," he sneered. "Hell-do you even know _how_ to spell 'consequence', let alone understand what the fuck it means, Rick?"

Ricks hand clenched tightly at his side and he took a step towards Merle. "I make the calls because somebody has to step up."

Merle glanced down as he felt Carols hand touch at his arm. Her eyes were glowing at him warningly.

"He has a point, Rick. You have made a few bad calls lately," Carol said quietly.

Ricks gaze was fixed firmly on Merle's. He shrugged mildly, "That's why I called this meeting."

Merle huffed, "An' yer still calling the shots. My my, yer still that asshole from the quarry. Ain't nothin' changed with you Rick."

He watched as Rick took another step closer, his hand still clenching at his side, and Merle stepped a pace nearer to him, thrusting his chin out. If the asshole wanted a fight, Merle would by all means give him one. He smirked as Rick stepped closer, he could see the anger shimmering in the other mans eyes.

"What'cha gonna do, arrest me for havin' a goddamned opinion? Way I see it-I'm more entitled to it than most," he raised his stump in the air between them, feeling some small satisfaction as Rick's eyes dropped to it.

"_That_ was a mistake," Rick said quickly.

"Oh yeah...ya think?" Merle hissed. "A mistake that cost me my goddamned fuckin' hand?"

Rick took another step closer, even as Carol stepped forward, her handing shooting out and grabbing at the sheriffs shoulder. "Don't Rick, just leave it."

He shrugged her hand off his shoulder and looked at Merle, his eyes narrowing heatedly. "I won't let you throw that at me every damned opportunity, Merle," he warned, raising his hand irritably and gesturing towards him. "This? You bring it on yourself. I won't tolerate your attitude here. Not at the prison."

"Whoa!" Merle laughed suddenly, stepping back. He raised his arms in the air in mock surrender, "What ya gonna do, beat up on a defenseless injured man?"

Rick glared at him and shook his head, one hand catching out and pinching the bridge of his nose wearily.

"Thought not, ya fuckin' pussy," Merle sneered.

"I don't have time for this," Rick retorted. "We have a meeting. The others are by all probability waiting for us."

Merle huffed petulantly, "Ain't none stoppin' ya."

Rick stared at him, then glanced across at Carol. "Meeting is in the library. Go ahead. I will be there soon."

Merle watched as Rick stalked off into the opposite direction, and he shrugged, glancing at Carol. "I dunno what the shit his problem is," he stated mildly.

...


	27. Chapter 27

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.**

* * *

...

Leaning his back into the door frame, he had watched them guardedly as they sat around a large round table in the recently cleared out library. Rick had been late, and now that he was there, he had held court, and Merle honestly thought that the man hadn't really paused for breath. Ideas were being bandied around left, right and fucking center.

His eyes had roamed over the small group as they sat all huddled together conspiratorially.

Maggie and Beth were sat with their old man, offering ideas on horticulture and farming. Rick had agreed, and then refused abruptly when Hershel suggested that it would be an idea for Rick to step up to that. Merle had found that funny as fuck-the thought of officer friendly swapping his pistols and badge for a shovel and flowers. Like that shit would happen. Rick loved to power trip on his ego way too much.

Merle himself had offered up the thought that there should be more able bodies in the watch towers at all times. Never knew when that Governor would strike, and Rick had practically shot him down on that idea, stating that it would be a drain on man power when other necessities were more needed, such as the need for more constant supply runs. With Winter drawing closer and the amount of people living at the prison, they would soon exhaust the precious little amount of food stocks. So that was the priority, not manning towers. Rick had conceded that the shifts as was would still stand, but nothing more. He had taken on board Merle's other thought on munition runs. No shitting surprise there.

Andrea had volunteered herself for supply runs and more watch shifts. Merle knew that like him, she was having difficulty finding her feet back within this group, and like him, their distrust of her was obvious because of her close relationship with the Governor.

Cooking and laundry duties were going to be distributed as normal, but with the added pulled in help from the new residents, and Merle thought it was high time that that lazy pampered lot pulled the sticks from out of their collective asses, and started contributing.

He had been less than impressed with Ricks idea that for now, the original group would have to bunk up and share cells until a new cell block wing was cleared of biters. Like that was going to happen. He wasn't about to give up, or share his cell with any fucking one. And why the hell should he? He didn't care two shits if they were sleeping three or four to a cell. Wasn't his problem. He didn't ask for them to be here.

He had sighed irritably when Carol had been given extra duties-and now she was also to hold schooling sessions for the congregated children. He'd half wondered if that had been such a good suggestion on Ricks part-especially in light of what had happened to her kid. But she had agreed, even quite fervently to the idea, and it had surprised the fuck out of him.

But, the most single goddamned fucking surprising event had been Rick announcing at the end of the meeting, that he was stepping down and handing over decisions that were now to be made by the group as a whole.

And at the point, Merle had laughed so hard that the breath had stuck in his gut, and he'd had to make a rapid exit, his thick rasping laughter barreling off the walls...much to the ire and annoyance of everyone else.

...

"When the hell ya get back, little brother?" Merle asked, staring and frowning largely at his brother. "Didn't see ya at that meeting yer girlfriend Rick called earlier."

Daryl huffed, glancing at him, adjusting the saddlebags of Merle's old Triumph. "Just shut it Merle. Got back some time ago. Didn't know Rick called a meeting."

"Yeah he did bro, say, he sure likes to throw his weight around, don't he?"

"Ain't like that, Rick does what he has to. Told ya before brother-if it weren't for him, we'd a lost more from the group than we have. He does fine by us, I ain't never got a problem with that."

Merle glanced away from him, narrowing his eyes again. He didn't know what had happened with the group from the time they had left Atlanta to the time they'd holed up at the prison. But obviously enough had gone down for Daryl to swear his undying allegiance to that shitty sheriff. "You ain't never said what ya went through, after that shit at the quarry."

"'Cause you ain't never asked, you dumbass," Daryl retorted as he stepped away from the bike and walked over to where his brother stood.

It was Merle's turn to huff. He looked at his brother, his gaze softening a little when he saw the pale cast to his face, the dark smudges under his eyes even more prominent. "You should rest up Darlina. Ya lookin' like crap."

"Pffft. Got no time to rest." Daryl sighed, "We didn't find him, sorry Merle. We looked, me and 'Chonne, but the trail's gone off, gone cold. Couldn't track much for shit."

Merle glanced at him sharply, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "'Chonne? Since when the fuck ye get all pally with the mute, huh?"

Daryl ignored him, "I dunno where the hell he is, but the trail disappeared not long after Woodbury. We're gonna go out again tho'."

"Governors a wily son of a bitch," Merle grimaced.

"We tracked him a while through him the woods. He musta got a vehicle, and can't track that fer shit," Daryl grimaced. "I wish I could told ya different, Merle. Reckon now-he's long gone. Maybe...try to pick up again in the morning, I dunno," he sighed tiredly.

Merle turned and watched as Maggie came across. She smiled warmly at Daryl and frowned a little at him, and he thought that was just right, fucking typical. He saw his brother look at her, and nod in greeting.

"Ya seen Carol, Maggie? I haven't long been back and I ain't caught up with her yet," Daryl asked.

Maggie smiled a little at him, "Carol? Oh, she's gone on a run with a few of the others. Some of the new ones from Woodbury; Tyreese, his sister, Scott and Andrea."

"She's _what_?" Merle hissed, suddenly feeling pissed. He hadn't seen her since the meeting had been called, and that had been fucking _hours_ ago. He didn't much care for the company she had gone with either. He'd wished that he'd smacked Scott a lot harder than he had done. Knocked the little creep out, maybe then...he wouldn't be on that run with her.

"It's good to see you back, Daryl," Maggie said as she moved past them.

"Is good to be back," Daryl followed Maggie with his eyes, before looking back at Merle. "Ya spoken to Carol an' fixed things with her?" he questioned softly.

"Yeah," Merle said distantly.

Daryl grunted at his side, "Merle?"

"It's fine, baby brother. Told ya." He looked at Daryl fixedly, "Ya know she about went and kicked my ass, huh?"

The only response he got was a long stare and a sudden smirk.

"It ain't funny," Merle said sourly.

Daryl's hand caught out suddenly and gripped at his arm briefly. Merle glanced at him, seeing a tight expression on his brothers face. He frowned as Daryl gestured one hand to the benches, and Merle shrugged nonchalantly before following after him.

They sat there a while in silence, Daryl reaching into his leather vest and pulling out a packet of cigarettes. He offered one to Merle, and flipped his lighter, lighting the smoke. He took one for himself and lit it, puffing out a steady stream of smoke.

Merle held the cigarette tightly between his fingers, glancing back at his brother. Something was eating him and he watched as Daryl rolled the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger before taking another long pull of it.

"What's up, Daryl?" he asked quietly, watching as his brother shifted in the seat next to him restlessly.

Daryl shrugged before answering. "Why did ya do it, Merle?"

"Do fucking what?" Merle questioned.

His brother looked at him long and hard, chewing at his lip. "Go out like a jackass after the Governor."

Merle leaned back in his seat, raising the smoke to his mouth and drawing hard on it. He let it out in a long sigh, watching as the grey smoke plumed in the air between them. He knew what Daryl was asking, and it wasn't just about what Rick had asked him to do. He didn't want to discuss this, he hadn't discussed it with anyone-the only one that really knew the truth of it was Michonne.

"I'm asking ya Merle," Daryl said, "Tell me brother, and don't go an' give me any of yer bullshit."

"Did it for ya, you and yer asshole friends. Reckoned I could take out a few of the Governors men...hell maybe even Blake himself. Buy y'all some time," he admitted reluctantly.

Daryl was silent for a moment, before turning in his seat and facing him. "It's more than that, I know. Ya didn't think ya'd come back, bro."

Merle laughed, but the sound was flat and without humor. "No. Yer right Daryl. I didn't think on the chance that I'd come back. It was a one way trip for me 'til Michonne went an' fucked my plans up."

"I need ta know why," Daryl quietly insisted, not taking his eyes off his brother.

"What the fuck is this Darlina?" Merle grunted angrily. "Twenty fuckin' questions? I don't wanna talk about this shit no more."

"Reckon I've a right to know Merle. Yer my fuckin' brother," Daryl spat back.

Merle puffed on the cigarette angrily, almost spitting the smoke out in a dark little cloud. He narrowed his eyes warningly. "Get the fuck off'a my back. I did what I did 'cause I thought it'd help. Shit is my thanks, same as goddamned usual."

"Ya know Merle, ya tell everyone else to grow the fuck up, nut up and be a man, but way I see it? Yer that same fuckin' idiot not facing up to all the shitty decisions ya made. You say about Rick? Fuck man, yer way worse."

Merle pushed himself to his feet, flinging the cigarette away. "What the hell you know about me, huh? What the fuck you know 'bout any goddamned thing I went through?"

Daryl narrowed his eyes, "You," he hissed, "You went and fuckin' left me. Not just once, fuck no. Ya left my ass out there to rot with our old man. Let me take all those beatings. Ya know nothin' Merle. Ya ain't nothin' but a goddamned fuckin' coward."

"You lil shit," Merle spat.

Daryl got to his feet and lurched towards Merle, curling his hand into a fist. He shoved at him, knocking him back a step. "Did ya think by going out there and dying was gonna be yer big goddamned redemption act, huh? Fuck you Merle."

Merle saw red. He couldn't stop himself as he threw a punch at his brother. Daryl side stepped quickly, and caught him with a solid right hook to his face which sent him stumbling to the ground. "Ya little asshole," Merle spat. He pushed himself off the ground with his hand, and then was knocked flat on his back as Daryl flew at him. His brother caught him again with a hard punch to his chest, catching him on his injured shoulder. He winced as the pain tore through him.

"I only ever wanted my fuckin' brother back, ya chicken shit!" Daryl cried out angrily.

Merle tried to kick at him with his foot, only to feel the wind knocked out of him as Daryl flew at him again. His brother sat astride him, pushing him back with his hands, leaning over him. His eyes blazed with a fury that Merle hadn't seen before, and he saw the bright shimmer of tears suddenly in his brothers eyes. He laid back on the concrete and closed his eyes, feeling the fight seep out him.

"You...ya wanna know why I did it, huh Daryl?" he said quietly as he opened his eyes and stared back at his brother. "I did it 'cause yeah, I ain't nothin' more than an asshole, and I don't deserve none better. An' yeah, I thought I'd die. But I wanted to give ya the chance I ain't never given ya before. Dontcha think that there's not a day goes by that I ever regret what I did? 'cause I do. But I can't change shit. I can't go back an' change the fuckin' past."

Daryl gripped his shoulders tightly, a single tear welling from his eyes and slipping down his cheek. "I just wanted ya back. Was all I wanted."

"Don't ya get it Daryl? I couldn't go back. I left 'cause I would have killed him. I had to fuckin' go. I was wrong. I should'a stayed, but I didn't. Man, I was fucked up. I took those beatin's too. Took 'em long before you were born. Ain't no damned excuse, and I'm sorry. I should'a stayed, and I didn't. I fucked up man, I ain't proud."

Daryl pushed himself off him, and sat heavily on the floor next to him, pulling his knees up and banding his arms about them. "I looked up to ya Merle."

Merle sighed as he sat up. He reached out his hand and caught Daryl's arm. "Don't hate me brother."

"Ain't never hated ya," Daryl said quickly. He sighed and pushed himself up, offering his hand to Merle and pulling him to his feet. They both stood hesitantly facing each other.

Merle swallowed hard. As much as he cared for Daryl, he had never shown him, thinking that their fighting and bickering was enough to let him know. But he realized it wasn't what Daryl had needed. He was the bigger brother, and it had been his duty to look after and protect him, and he had done for a while...until it got to the point that he couldn't take the constant destructive fighting that their father drunkenly gave every single fucking day. And he'd run, like a pussy whipped coward. Gone and tried to medicate and drink his sorry fucking ass to oblivion, anything to try to numb the constant aching hurt.

He sighed. Maybe it was high time now that he manned up and took the responsibility of his actions.

"I ain't never meant to hurt ya, little brother. I fucked up I know, and I'm sorry. I'm...I'm trying to change. Turn over a new leaf an' all that shit." He watched as Daryl glanced up at him, and he felt sickened to see the tears on his face. "I ain't asking yer forgiveness Daryl, 'cause I can't forgive myself."

Daryl stepped hesitantly towards him, and Merle paused before pulling him to him, wrapping his arms around his brother. Daryl leant against him, little sobs sneaking out of his mouth, and Merle stroked his hand over his hair, before kissing the side of his head. "I'm sorry, Daryl," he whispered. "Dontcha go on hating me...I can't live with myself if ya do."

"Don't hate ya," Daryl murmured. "Ain't never hated ya bro. I love ya."

Merle felt the tears well up in his own eyes, felt the bitter sting of them prickle beneath his eyelids, and he swallowed tightly again. "I'm tryin' to be better. I'm tryin'."

Daryl sniffled, and Merle fought back a pang at the sound. How much he'd remembered the sound of his brother trying to hold back scared frightened tears as their old man loomed over him, belt at the ready in his drunken paw of a fist. He shook his head bitterly. He could have spared his brother so much if he'd had the balls to stay. His fingers curled tightly in Daryl's hair, and he hugged him, before easing away and stepping back.

"I love ya Daryl. I always have."

He watched as his brother stepped back, his head downcast. "I know," he said softly. "Ya gotta make it work here Merle. I don't want to lose ya."

"Ain't going anywhere, brother."

Daryl nudged his arm and offered him another cigarette. They stood and smoked together a while in silence.

Daryl raised his head and glanced at him, a small little wry smile twerking his lips upwards suddenly. He leaned towards Merle and hit his arm. "Pussy," he said.

Merle bit back a grin as he punched him lightly in the shoulder, "Faggot."

Daryl laughed a little at that, before banding his arm around Merle's shoulders. "C'mon big brother. We got shit that needs seeing to, reckon Rick or the others got summat that wants doin'."

"Now that man's a pussy assed faggot begging for a damned good ass whupping," Merle sighed.

Daryl shook his head, "Stop," he smirked.

…

As it turned out, between them both they were more than busy over the next few hours. A new cell block had been cleared of biters, and Merle, Daryl, Maggie and Beth were conscripted as the clean up crew.

And it hadn't been really that long since Merle had found himself in a similar situation, surrounded by mattresses. Only this time he wasn't tearing them apart looking for a nice little vacation-this time he was clearing them out of the cells, stacking the most heavily soiled to one far wall, the less stained ones nearer to one of the cells where Beth sat on one of the stripped down metal framed bunks, studiously scrubbing, with a soapy bucket next to her feet.

She glanced up as he strode past, smiling a little as he huffed and puffed shoving another stinking mattress to the pile. He raised his eyebrows at her, "Huh. Sweet lil thing like ya shouldn't be in here scrubbin'-"

"Merle," Daryl warned.

"Hell brother, I weren't about to say nothin'," he commented mildly. "I'm a reformed man."

He heard his brother chuckle, the sound muffled. "Bullshit."

"How many more of 'em bodies ya gotta drag out'a here, Darlina?" He watched as Daryl popped into view, pushing a gurney with two bodies strapped to it.

Daryl swiped one grimy hand over his brow, and tugged the bandana off from his lower face. He shrugged, "Gotta few more, then I'm done. This weren't as bad as when we first cleared out C-block."

Merle glanced across as he heard Maggie approach. She had a freshly filled bucket of soapy water. Her hands and arms were stained vividly red. She had been going around the cells and scrubbing as much of the bloodied gunk off the walls and floors as she could.

"Was a kindness 'em wardens killin' those men in their cells, dontcha reckon," Merle rasped. "Such a damned kindness."

"No. It wasn't," Maggie replied warily, glancing away from him to look in the direction of her sister.

Merle laughed a little, "Dontcha believe it. Those men were here for a reason. Ya know every convict says their innocent. And most of the time, maybe they are. Maybe they ain't. But I bet yer sweet ass, if they were alive now, with this group? You wouldn't be sleeping so sweetly with yer lil chinaman tucked up in yer arms. Glenn would've been their bitch for sure, an' you Maggie? You an' that sweet lil thing of a sister ya got? Hmm."

"What is your problem, Merle?" Maggie rounded on him angrily.

"Fuck's sake Merle, shut it, and leave them alone." Daryl growled.

Merle bit back a chuckle at the pissed little looks both Maggie and his brother were shooting him. "Huh. Goddamned convicts," he tutted, ignoring them both.

"They weren't all bad. There weren't nothin' wrong with Oscar, or Axel," Daryl grabbed at his arm and pulled him several feet across the cell block, out of the way of the Greene sisters.

Merle frowned. "An' where are they now, lil brother?"

Daryl narrowed his eyes at him. "They're dead, ya know that."

Merle sucked at his teeth, "Hmm. Point proved. Convicts expendable."

"If ya ain't got nothing better to do, bro-there are cells at the far end ya ain't gotten yer skanky old ass to yet."

He glanced quickly at Daryl, smirking, "Say what Darlina?"

Daryl gestured impatiently to the far end of the block and Merle shrugged, taking the hint. "Don't get yer pantyhose in a knot, I'm goin'."

Merle watched as Daryl turned from him and pushed the gurney out of the block, and he walked over to the end cells. He peered in with a curl of distaste pulling at his mouth as he saw the sickening amount of dried blackened blood sprayed across the far wall of the cell, the body laying on the ground with the majority of its head blown away.

He grabbed at a leg with his hand and dragged the body out into the hallway, before stepping gingerly into the cell. His eyes roamed pityingly over the small room, before dropping to a particularly grimed stinking mattress. He tugged at it, his eyes narrowing as the mattress slipped off the bunk. He could see a small slit to the right hand side, the dirty off white stuffing spilling out of the mattress. Merle paused undecided, before pulling it closer and inspecting it.

He glanced over his shoulder, before thrusting his hand inside the incision, his heart beating a little faster as his fingers enclosed on a piece of small plastic. Wonderingly, he snagged at it and pulled it out, turning a small plastic ziploc bag over in his hand.

Daryl's' boots clomped heavily back into the cell block, and Merle listened carefully, before raising the bag up into the light, and looking with wonder at the small white pills inside. His breath caught as he roughly counted a dozen or so pills. Amphetamines.

_I'll be fucked._

He heard Daryl make his way towards him, stopping abruptly at the entrance of the cell. "What ye doin' Merle?"

Merle guiltily and swiftly palmed the pills to the pocket of his pants, before turning and smiling at Daryl, "Get off'a my case lil bro. Ya jus' gonna stand there an' gawk at me? Shit brother, we got work to do."

...


	28. Chapter 28

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.**

* * *

...

Scott paced at the barricaded door, running both of his hands over the top of his head. "I can't believe we are fucking well stuck here," he whined. "I mean, what the fucking hell went wrong out there?"

"Keep your voice down," Sasha breathed quickly. "You're gonna attract them."

Tyreese walked over to him, grabbing his arm, holding his grip tighter as Scott tried to wriggle free. "This wouldn't have happened if you'd used your senses and not your gun," he insisted quietly. He looked over to his sister and nodded, and Sasha just sighed back at them tightly.

Carol sat there on the dirty carpeted floor, watching them. They'd been trapped in this run down house at the edge of the woods for the last few hours. Her hands fidgeted in her lap. The first run they'd done had been to the abandoned nursery that Daryl and Maggie had gone to when Judith had first been born. And it had taken them a while because of the vehicles blocking the road. Tyreese and Andrea had insisted on it though, and they'd managed to maneuver the vehicles off the road as much as they could to allow the SUV to pass through. As time consuming as it had been though-it had been worth it for the amount of medicines, blankets, diapers, baby formula, childrens toys and books that they'd gathered. With all the new children at the prison, and especially for Judith, it had been worth the time and the risk.

They should have just left it then and made their way back. But this house had been so close, and everyone had thought at the time that it was good practice, an extra incentive to gather more supplies, and for the newer members of the group to gain a little more in the way of training. A straight forward run, what could go wrong?

Naturally it had gone disastrously wrong the minute Scott had panicked upon seeing a huddle of walkers straggling in the woods at the back of the house, and he had fired at them repeatedly, making the group bid a hasty escape to the only means possible, the house. But, as long as they kept quiet, there was every possibility that the walkers would lose interest and wander off. So far, it seemed to be working.

Carol looked up as Andrea entered the room, and gave her a weary smile. She smiled back, handing her a tinned can of food, before taking one to everyone else in the room.

"What's this?" Scott asked, raising the can to his nose and sniffing dubiously at its contents.

"It's lunch, be grateful," Andrea replied tersely.

"Great, creamed corn." He dragged his feet across the room and slumped to the floor, his back pressed to the wall.

"I got peaches if you wanna swap?" Sasha asked.

He only gave her a withering expression, before digging in with his fingers.

Carol placed her can on the floor as she glanced across as Andrea came over and sat next to her on the ground. "The guy's a moron," Andrea said quietly, raising an eyebrow and looking at her.

"He's just inexperienced, I suppose."

"Don't be so nice about him, Carol. The guy could have got us all killed."

She shrugged, looking across at Scott. He was in his mid-thirties and attractive enough she guessed, what with his shaggy dirty blonde hair and dark eyes. He was tall, taller than Merle, but not as well built. Scrawny, with a bit of a paunch that obviously indicated the good living that he'd had at Woodbury.

Carol felt an elbow dig in her ribs, and she looked as Andrea smirked at her. "Thought you were practically spoken for. You know, a certain Dixon?"

"Oh stop it, Andrea," she rolled her eyes, blushing a little. Just the thought of Merle got her heart pounding a little too unsteadily and her thoughts all jumbled.

"We should get some rest," Tyreese spoke out softly, and Carol pushed herself to her feet.

"I'll take watch," she said, her hand slipping to her waist and resting on the knife in its sheath at her belt.

Tyreese glanced quickly at her, "Are you sure? I don't mind, Carol. I can take a shift."

She shook her head at the look he gave her, concern drifting across his wide brown eyes, and she smiled as she lightly touched at his arm. She found that she liked this gentle bear of a man."It's fine, I'm not really all that tired. You go and get some sleep. Maybe you can relieve me in a few hours?"

Tyreese glanced at her again and nodded, before walking across to his sister and settling himself on the floor next to the chair she sat in. Carol watched as Sasha reached out her hand and let it light on his shoulder.

"Come on Scott," she called out, ignoring the look Andrea gave her. "You can help me get some blankets from upstairs."

Scott pushed himself off the wall, his hand tugging at the sleeve of his grimed denim jacket. "Sure," he scowled.

They trudged up the stairs, carefully stepping over the walkers body at the top of the landing. She heard Scott spit out a curse, and she looked over her shoulder at him.

"You need to get used to this," she said brusquely.

"I don't know...can you? I mean, is that even possible," he grimaced.

"Mhm. It's a case of get used to it, or die." She frowned, "Just how much experience have you got with any of this?"

Scott laughed, "Practically none. I've never been on a 'run' as you call it. Was never any need, not in Woodbury. The Governor saw to all that. Only biters I saw were in the arena."

"You never went out, not even once?" She turned into one of the bedrooms and hastened across to the bed, looking at the blankets, wondering just how stained and dirty they were in the thin light coming from the window.

"No. I wasn't asked." He looked at her and shrugged as she tugged the blanket off the bed and folded it loosely, passing it to him. "Physical prowess was never my forte. I'm more of an academic, I guess. I suppose that's why the Governor never asked me." He leaned closer to her and grinned, "Too weedy."

Carol glanced at him, raising an eyebrow, "So what did you do, you know. Before the turn?"

"I was a web designer. Not much use for that now, I know."

She held out another blanket to him, and he took it from her, tucking it under his arm. "So say, what did you do?"

"Oh nothing. I was a mom, housewife. Nothing special, really," she moved across to the other side of the room, pausing before carefully opening the closet door. The only thing that jumped out at her were the garish clothing hanging on the coat rails.

"Where are your husband and kids?" he asked. "Back at the prison?"

Carol felt the breath stifle inside her lungs. She didn't look at him, instead she closed the closet door softly, her palm resting against the white painted door. "They're gone."

"Oh, I'm sorry. How did they die? Was it before, or did they get bitten?" he asked her curiously.

She let the breath still in her lungs, refusing to look at him. She found that she didn't want to discuss this, especially with someone like him, someone that she didn't know. It hurt enough as it was-the constant longing for her daughter wringing her heart pathetically in her chest. She swallowed against sudden tears, and turned her back to him as she quickly wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. Taking a deep breath, she turned and walked back across the room towards the door, silently gesturing for him to follow.

There were two more bodies in the next room. She knew that they were there because Sasha and her had been the ones to put them down when they first entered the house as refuge. She sighed as Scott stumbled behind her.

"God, these things," he complained. "They're just fucking nasty."

Carol glanced away from him, rolling her eyes.

"Hell, they stink like festering shit," he held his hand delicately over his nose and then bumped into her as she pushed the next door open.

"Mhm." She paused in the doorway, touching at the knife at her waist.

"I'm sorry about your family. Maybe they're in heaven," he shrugged, then smiled suddenly. "I was brought up to be a good Christian," he explained, stepping into the bedroom with her.

She glanced across at him sharply. "That won't do you any good. There's no place for God in a world like this, not any more."

…

Carol felt thankful for the quiet as the rest of the group settled down to sleep, huddled underneath the blankets. She had shaken her head in response as she was offered one, instead she chose to sit there stiffly in the cold, one hand resting at the knife at her waist.

As much as she tried to stop, her thoughts constantly strayed back to Merle. She wondered what he was doing now, was Daryl back, and where they together. It came as no great surprise to her now that she felt a pang because she missed him. She wasn't sure what was going on between them, she only knew that there was something and that she cared for him a great deal, and now she didn't even bother to fight that thought. It was pointless, she had stared caring for him a while ago, even before when he was being a jackass, and refusing her aid as he lay on the bunk in his cell, hurting and lashing out at anyone that showed the vaguest hint of sympathy.

She wanted to see him, feel his touch, and she ached to hear his thick gravelly voice. Her heart thudded in her chest, and she bit at her lip as she pushed herself to her feet. This wasn't doing her any good. Irritability she paced across the room where the others lay sleeping.

She had never felt that way about Ed, not even when she had married him. Sure, she had been swept away by him at first-who wouldn't have been? He'd been so charming and attentive when they'd first met. He'd offered her the world, but little did she know what exactly his version of the world entailed. Merle was everything that Ed wasn't...or had ever been. And she wondered if that was a good, or bad thing. But, he did one thing that Ed had never done. He made her feel so vibrantly alive.

She waited out the next few hours, carefully shutting down her thoughts and concentrating on the stillness of the house. Tyreese woke a few hours later, and at his gentle insistence, she allowed herself a blanket, and some small semblance of rest.

...

"They're gone."

Carol roused herself from underneath her blanket, pushing it from her as she glanced tiredly at Andrea.

Scott blinked rapidly, "You sure?"

Andrea nodded, "Yeah, they're gone. Finally we can get the hell out of here."

"Amen to that," Sasha answered.

Tyreese chuckled at her side, "You slept through most if it, Sasha."

"I did not," she huffed in response, glowering at him.

"You did," he smiled.

"Can we just go now?" Scott grumbled.

…

They'd packed the SUV with as much as they could fit, and then they were on their way back to the prison. Carol felt relief surge through her as they neared the prison gates, sitting upright in her seat in the back next to Scott and Sasha as she saw Carl and Michonne standing at the gates.

Carl quickly pulled the main gate open. Andrea drove through, Carl quickly pulling the gate shut behind them and locking it.

Andrea parked the car just short of the inner gates, and Carol waited for Scott to open the door and climb out before she did so herself. The younger man seemed relieved to be back, and she smiled as he stretched his arms, yawning widely.

"Who would have thought that I'd actually be glad to be back at a prison," he grinned.

The drivers door flung open, and Andrea stepped out, giving her a small smirk, and Carol watched her curiously, before glancing across as Tyreese banded an arm about his sisters shoulders as they made their way back to the prison.

Scott trailed behind Andrea, and she watched with amusement as the blonde woman turned to him quickly, looking him up and down appraisingly. "I'm sleepy. Say...you wanna keep me company?"

Scott nearly tripped over his own feet.

…

Judith was grumbling loudly and Carol watched as Rick manhandled her in his arms somewhat awkwardly. She frowned at him. "Rick, she's a baby, not a bag of groceries."

He looked at her sheepishly as she come across and took the baby from him. Carol cooed at her, cradling her in her arms, and she smiled at Rick when Judith stopped her fussing. "See?" she smirked.

"I'm still not getting a handle on her," he grumbled. "Carl was never like this. That boy could sleep through a storm, I swear. She wriggles too much."

Carol laughed, "She doesn't wriggle _that_ much. No two babies are really ever the same, Rick. You're just out of practice." She rocked the baby in her arms, touching at the baby's fine hair with her fingers. "She's beautiful."

"And you're biased," Rick grinned.

Carol looked at him and smiled, "Well naturally I am. We picked up some good supplies on that run. Alot that will benefit the children, and Judith of course." She kissed the top of the baby's head before handing her back reluctantly to her father.

Rick frowned as he rocked the baby gently in his arms. "What happened? You all got back late."

"Don't ask," she said. She saw the confused look Rick gave her, and felt the need to explain. "Everything was fine until Scott panicked when he saw a few walkers. He fired his gun at them," she said as he stared at her. "We had to take refuge in a house and wait them out overnight."

"Hell," Rick cursed. "Maybe we shouldn't have let him go."

"I don't know. He's inexperienced, but I think that goes for a lot of the people from Woodbury. But yes, you're right. We can't allow inexperience like that. He could have gotten somebody killed. Maybe he needs some practice with walkers at the fences? Teach him to use a knife, not a gun."

"Maybe it is better that we only use people that we know won't lose their heads on the supply runs. I wont risk anyone out there."

"Then you can count out the majority from Woodbury. They've not lived like we've had too. They're soft, pampered."

Rick hummed in agreement, "Should bring it up at the next meeting. I will see to it."

Carol nodded, stifling back a yawn, "Sorry," she smiled weakly, "Haven't slept much."

"Go," He gestured with his hand awkwardly. "Get some rest." He looked down at the baby in his arms and smiled, "I think this one has finally dropped off. Thank you."

…

She had wanted to go to her cell and sleep, but the need to see Merle itched at her so much that she made her way towards his cell instead. She didn't know if he'd be there-it was late afternoon and chances were he was probably off somewhere with Daryl. She frowned, she hadn't seen him since she had gotten back either.

Merle was sat on his bunk, and she leaned in against the doorway, watching him. He didn't look at her, just stared rigidly at a piece of what she thought was plastic poking out from his fist.

"Are you okay, Merle?" she pursed her lips tightly. She sensed something was wrong-she could feel it in the air between them. She took a step closer, standing restlessly in the doorway.

He slowly turned his head, his eyes searching hers out, and she bit her lip at the haunted look to his eyes. She'd seen that look before, and it hurt her now as much as it did then.

"When the fuck ye get back?" he rasped.

"Not long."

He huffed, shrugging his shoulders, before looking away from her and staring back at his hand.

"Whats going on?" She stepped into his cell, watching him warily.

Merle exhaled quickly, the motion flaring his nostrils. He glanced up quickly, before pushing himself off his bunk and moving towards her. His hand came out, touching hers and he thrust the piece of plastic at her. "Take it."

She did as she was told, and felt an icy finger trickle down her back as she saw what he had given her. Pills. Drugs. "I don't believe this," she said, stepping backwards, shaking her head in disbelief. "After everything? What the hell is wrong with you, Merle?" Tears misted her eyes, and as he moved towards her, she backed quickly away from him.

"It ain't like that," he spat. "I'm tellin' ya it ain't."

She brandished the small ziploc bag between them. "Like hell it is!" She glared at him before turning and walking out of his cell and back into the corridor.

He moved so quickly, rushing past to stand in front of her, blocking her way. He leaned his stump to the wall, looming over her.

She should have felt intimidated, she knew, but she felt so angry and disappointed in him. "Whatever _this_ was Merle? I'm done with it."

"You ain't even gonna listen to me?" he barked.

She shook her head, "What is there to say? Nothing. I really thought you had changed, but you haven't." She blinked rapidly against the tears, feeling them slip down her cheeks, and it made her angry that he could mess with her emotions so easily.

"I didn't take any of 'em. I swear Carol. I didn't," he sighed. "Give me a chance, huh?"

"Why the hell should I?"

He glanced down at his feet, "'Cause I'm tellin' ya the truth," he answered quietly.

Carol stared at him. She knew that she should just walk away, and leave him there with his drugs. Let him get stoned, let him do whatever the fuck he wanted. But she knew that she couldn't do that, no matter how angry she was. She cared too much for him.

"Please? Jus' hear me out Carol."

Her heart twisted at his words, the dull flat tone of his voice. She swiped at her eyes with one hand, still gripping the plastic bag tightly in her other. "Don't you make me a fool, Merle," she warned angrily.

He touched at her shoulder, before rapidly snagging his hand back at the angry glare she shot him. "I ain't gonna, but I need'a talk to ya." He sighed, shaking his head and gesturing back to his cell, "I ain't discussing shit out here."

Carol narrowed her eyes at him in warning, before turning and stepping into his cell. She watched as he followed after her, her gaze narrowing as he sat on his bunk, looking at her and then patting the space at the side of him.

"Sit."

She shook her head at him again, "No," she said tightly. "Whatever you've got to say, just spit it out already, for Christ's sake."

He looked at her wearily, "Easier if ya come sit with me."

Carol ground her teeth, before sighing heatedly and moving into his cell, perching on the edge of his bunk. She positioned herself as far away from him as she possibly could.

Merle just looked at her sadly and shrugged, and she thought he looked utterly defeated.

"I found 'em. Was clearing a new wing for those Woodbury assholes with Daryl." He frowned, not looking at her. "Found 'em stuffed in a mattress. Yeah, I knew what they were as soon as I saw 'em. I been sat here the last few hours thinkin' things through."

"And?" She spat at him.

"An' I realized that I ain't ever going back. Not to my old ways. Ya know I had a fight with Daryl?" he cautiously glanced at her.

"You fought with Daryl? Oh, this just gets worse," she hissed, rising from her seat on his bunk. "I think I've heard enough, Merle."

His hand snaked out and he grabbed at her arm, "Ya ain't listenin' to me, darlin'. Things were said that needed to be said. I been an asshole to my lil brother. Weren't never there for him when he needed me. But I'm here now, and I'm tryin' to change."

"Why should I believe you?" Carol questioned, glancing at his hand on her arm.

"'Cause I'm tellin' ya the truth. I ain't never lied to ya before, an' I sure as hell ain't gonna start now." He huffed quietly. "I _wanted_ to tell ya. You're the only one that ever stood by me, along with Daryl. I was tempted to take 'em, I ain't gonna lie to ya-but I didn't. An' I been sat here the last few hours thinkin' shit through. I got too much to lose by fuckin' myself up with drugs. Ya think I wanna lose you, or my brother?" He shook his head angrily. "It ain't happening."

"Why show me then? You could have just gotten rid of them, anytime," she frowned.

"Huh. I got scared, alright? I know what people think of me. An' if they see me tryin' to get rid of this shit? It's any excuse to tear me down. Who are they gonna believe? An ex drug addict who most people would'a be glad to be rid of?"

"Merle," she said quietly.

"What? I waited for you. I thought you'd understand. I ain't playin' no fuckin' game here. I didn't take 'em."

Carol sighed softly. Maybe he was telling the truth-it seemed plausible enough. Anybody that would have seen him trying to dispose of the drugs would automatically assume the worst. Herself included. "Why did you keep them?"

"Fuck, I don't know. I saw 'em and didn't even think. Shit honey, I don't know why I do half the things I do. But believe me-I didn't touch none of that shit. Jus' please, don't push me away."

She wanted to believe him-she truly did, but doubt clawed at her. She glanced at the pills in her hand, swallowing tightly at the thought that he _had_ handed them over. And he could have just kept quiet about the whole thing, instead he'd turned to her. Maybe it counted for something. "One chance, Merle," she warned.

He leaned towards her, and for one moment she honestly thought that he was going to wrestle the bag out of her hand, but instead he totally ignored them, choosing to lean across to her and press his lips to her cheek. He pulled away and as she looked at him, she saw no sign of drug use in his blue eyes. None of the tell-tale widening of his pupils.

"Told ya darlin', I got too much to lose," he said quietly.

Carol glanced down at her hand. She pushed the small plastic bag into the depths of her pants pockets, wiping her palm on her thigh. He nudged her and she watched wonderingly as Merle caught at her hand, linking his fingers with hers, their palms pressing firmly together.

"Do ya believe me?"

"I want to believe you, yes," she replied.

"I need ya to, 'cause if ya don't? I might as well go an' get the fuck out'a here." He raised his eyebrows as she watched him carefully. She saw the defiant cast to his face-the way he thrust his jaw out."That ain't gonna happen," he rasped thickly. "I don't want it to happen. I ain't gonna fuck my life up no more, I don't need no goddamned pills, no goddamned drugs."

She gazed at him for a while, before dropping her eyes to the bunk, where their hands lay between them, linked together. She didn't know what to think any more-she felt hurt and confused, wondering whether to trust him, to believe that he was telling her the truth. She wished that he hadn't had found those stupid pills, but even as she thought that, she knew that there would probably be other opportunities in the future for him to find drugs. Maybe it was just as well that it had happened now.

And, there was also the fact that he had handed them over to her, and the look on his face tugged at her heart just enough to maybe convince her. She sighed sadly and let go of his hand, letting hers rest loosely across her lap. Leaning to the wall, she turned from him and stared tiredly across his cell.

She stiffened in surprise as his thumb suddenly brushed against her cheek. He scooted up the bed, his bandaged arm sneaking about her waist as his thumb trailed across her skin. She closed her eyes to his touch, her heart thudding almost pitifully in her chest as she felt the rough stubble of his chin brush against her skin, and she had to bite back the gasp as his lips pressed firmly to hers. He kissed her, his lips moving slowly, his tongue touching briefly and flickering at her mouth. She found that she ached so badly for him that it scared her.

She reached out a hand and touched at his brow, her fingers softly touching at his skin. His arm banded around her more firmly, pressing her to him, and she let her hand slip to his arm, leaning down and resting her forehead to his shoulder, burying her face into the warmth of his throat. His other arm came around, and he held her close, his head leaning against hers.

…

She woke up in confusion, Merle's arms still around her, her head resting against his chest. Thin light came through the cell from the large prison windows on the main floor, and she squinted, waiting for her eyes to adjust in the dim light.

"Didn't think ya was gonna wake," he murmured.

"How long have I been asleep?" she asked, pushing herself from him. His arms loosened around her, but he made no attempt to move.

"Dunno, few hours, ain't sure."

"Why didn't you wake me?"

He chuckled softly, "'Cause you were quiet, an' I didn't want ya to go."

Carol smiled at that.

"I ain't gonna be Mr. fuckin' popular though." He shifted against her, "I'm supposed to be on watch, taking over from some Woodbury asshole."

"Merle, you should have woken me. I didn't mean to fall asleep, but I haven't slept well, and I'm so damned tired."

"Yeah, I heard yer run didn't go well. You were gone too fuckin' long," he complained, letting his arms drop from her as he pushed himself off the bunk. "Go rest, I gotta go darlin'."

He turned back, and leaned down to her, pressing a swift kiss to her lips, letting his tongue sneak out and poke at her mouth, before standing back and smirking.

Carol watched as he left, before moving from his bunk, and pacing across the corridor. A sudden thought gripped her, and she reached into the pocket of her pants, her hand finding the plastic bag with the pills in it. She bit at her lip, hating herself then for doubting him, and she turned quickly and headed off towards the shower room. There was nobody else around, and she swung the door open, glancing about the room, before striding over to one of the lavatories. She lifted the lid on the toilet, and held the bag over it, shaking the contents into the bowl. She pushed the flush, watching as the pills disappeared in the swirling water.

Her heart felt lighter as she made her way back to her cell in the darkness. She couldn't help but think of him as she lay on her bunk, burying her head into her pillow and closing her eyes. As she drifted off to sleep, all she could think of was the misery burning in his eyes when he had told her about those hateful pills.

...


	29. Chapter 29

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.**

_**a/n: I have to post a warning for this chapter, as it does involve smut and one or two racist words. If you are offended by this or don't like to read, my apologies, and please just skip past this chapter.**_

_I am pretty damn nervous posting this, as I haven't really written anything of a smutty nature in well over ten years, and I am so bloody rusty... and a little out of my depth here. I really really hope this chapter comes out okay. _

_So saying-here we go..._

* * *

...

A light rain slowly misted, so soft that it almost whispered down to him, and Merle glanced up at the night sky, shifting his legs from underneath him as he stood to his feet. He saw the faint droplets from the wan light of the hurricane lamp, and grunting under his breath, he pushed the door of the control booth open with his foot, shoving the Jeffery Deaver novel he'd been reading to his chest, cradling it with his stump as he retrieved the lamp.

He left the rifle propped at the wall near to the door; ready at hand if anything went down, although from the few quiet hours he'd already spent at watch-he doubted anything much was going to happen now. The Governors trail was dead and cold; it seemed like the damned man had vanished off the face of the earth.

Merle propped himself against the edge of the table, placing the lamp near to him. Fumbling in his pants pocket, he retrieved his cigarettes, smiling at the fact they weren't _quite_ his-he'd lifted them from Daryl's cell earlier. Not that his little brother would have noticed. Daryl had gone on yet another futile scouting run with Michonne, and had forgotten to take them with him.

He lit the smoke, taking a long inhale and puffing the smoke out slowly as he flipped the paperback open, resting it against his stump as he bent back the page he'd dog eared earlier. He'd found it in the library earlier on in the day. He'd had to admit that the book wasn't half bad, and soon enough he found himself being drawn back and immersed into the world of Lincoln Ryhme, and the steady familiar flow of words from the pages capturing his attention.

He smoked the cigarette, clenching it between his teeth so that he wouldn't have to put the book down, only stopping when the smoke burnt down to the filter, smarting at his lips and then he flipped the paperback over; pressing the pages against his arm as he spat out the embering butt, and ground at it with the heel of his boot.

Picking the book back up, he picked up from where he'd left off and started to pore over the pages again, only to to stop and raise his head, sighing in irritation as he heard voices drift towards him. One feminine, the other definitely male-he heard their lightly shared laughter in the air even before he heard their footsteps echo at the base of the steps of the tower.

Merle dog eared the page, and rolled the book loosely, shoving it into the back pocket of his pants as he stepped out of the control booth.

Tyreese looked at him mildly in surprise, dropping his arm from around the dark haired woman's shoulders, and Merle huffed at them. What the fuck was it with the damned watches? Couldn't any fucker manage a shift on their own he thought, smirking suddenly.

Karen watched as he moved past them. He remembered her from Woodbury, had seen her taking watch on the walls there. He'd never cared for her-in fact he remembered that he'd found her fucking irritating. The type of woman that thought she had a bigger dick, and a bigger right than most of the men around. Stupid feminist bitch full of the usual shit and bigotry.

"Anything happening out there?" Tyreese asked, looking at him.

Merle shrugged. He didn't want to share the air with no big assed beany wearing nigger. His conscience itched at him though and he glowered at Tyreese, before swallowing quickly. He was _supposed_ to be making an effort-no matter how much it pissed him off. It seemed that turning over a new leaf and all the shit it entailed, left a bitter taste in the mouth.

"Nuh," he grunted reluctantly. "Ain't nothin' gone down. It's been quiet."

"Well, have a good night," Tyreese stared, before inclining his head.

Merle huffed again, glancing at the ground. The sourness welled up inside him; he felt it clawing and sticking insidiously in his gut, but what the fucking hell. He was _trying_ to change. "Uh...you too, man."

He brought his head up and focused his gaze on them. Judging from the shifty little looks the pair were shooting each other, Merle wondered exactly how much fucking _watch_, and how much _shift_ were going to go on.

"Thanks," Tyreese gazed at him, before letting a smile touch at his mouth.

Merle didn't answer. He only cocked his eyebrows at them.

...

He made his way through the prison, squinting his eyes in the faint light coming in from the windows. He paused and frowned, thinking that he'd heard the slight muffled sounds of sobbing. He waited for a moment in the stillness, and hearing nothing more, made his way wearily back towards his cell.

He placed the paperback on his makeshift night stand, before shoving his boots carelessly off from his feet. He grasped the edge of his bunk and lowered himself down, sinking his head into his pillow. His eyes closed and he rested his stump tiredly across his brow, feeling the first edge of drowsiness slip over him.

He heard the noise again-the faint soft sound of muted tears, and he sat up on his bunk quickly, frowning as a sudden awareness flowed through his tired brain. He swallowed quickly as he swung his legs across the mattress, leaning his back to the wall and scratching at his cheek restlessly with his fingers. The rest of the prison were asleep, and those sounds could only be coming from one person, one person other than himself that suffered the bad dreams that kept them awake at night. He'd heard her crying a few times in the night before, and the first and last time that he'd gone to her-it had been obvious to him that she hadn't wanted him anywhere near. He hadn't gone to her since, even though the sounds had kept him awake with a frustration of knowing that she would refuse any comfort that he would awkwardly try to offer.

But now? He was fucked if he was going to let her stop him, not when his heart caught and tore with the sound of those damn tears. He pushed himself off his bunk and made his way quietly out of his cell. He left his boots where they were in a jumbled heap on the floor-there was no need of them, not in the prison block. Plus he didn't want to wake anyone else with the sound of his boots clomping up the metal gang way to her cell.

The sounds of the prison reached him, as they always did. The sonorousness tones of the others slumbering deeply in the twilight hours of the night. He bit back a smile as he heard a sudden bout of bed ridden flatulence, and he knew that could only have come from the old mans cell. Hershel would by all means be mortified if he knew, and Merle wasn't about to go and tell on him anytime soon. He had a lot of respect for the former veterinarian, liked him even. And there wasn't so many in the prison that he felt that for.

He stood in the doorway of her cell, hesitating as he saw her sat on her bunk with a blanket pulled loosely to her chest, her head clasped in her hands. She sobbed quietly again, and he chewed at his lip as he slunk into her cell quietly, stopping almost guiltily as she looked up at him. He saw the trail of tears shimmering across her cheeks, and his heart wrenched at the sight.

"Shh," he rasped, sitting on the edge of her bunk. He reached out his hand and grasped at her arm, watching as she tried to shrug him away.

He clenched his jaw, narrowing his eyes as he watched her try to swat at the tears on her face. She glanced at him again, her eyes luminous and full of moisture in the thin silvery light, and he didn't even think as he smoothed his hand up her arm to her shoulder, pulling her to him. She held herself stiffly for a moment, trying stubbornly to resist, before giving in and pressing her face to his neck, her arms wrapping around him. He felt her tears hot and damp against his skin, half heard the words she mumbled against his throat.

"It's okay," he soothed, "Shh, I'm here."

"I...I'm sorry, it's just a bad dream. It's nothing," she mumbled, "I'm sorry, Merle."

He kissed the side of her head, the slight curls of her hair tickling not unpleasantly against his nose. "Don't ya say that," he whispered close to her ear, "Ya ain't got no need, not with me darlin'."

She didn't answer him, except for a slight muffled sob as she pressed closer. He closed his eyes and held her, rocking her softly against him, whispering soothing words that he never even realized he knew, all the while holding her close and trying desperately to ignore the effect that her weeping had on him.

There was a time that he would have never allowed, or even entertained the ludicrous idea that he could feel the way that he did about her, hell to even feel that way about _anyone_. But somehow without his knowing, she had gotten herself firmly fixed under his skin and as much as he'd tried to fight it, and by fuck he had tried-he knew that he'd lost, and he found now to his surprise that he didn't really give two shits to it. It was all so fucking new...and although at times it terrified him- he couldn't imagine anything any different now. She'd _made_ him different. For the first time in so fucking long, she made him feel alive in a way that no amount of drugs, alcohol or sordid one night stands ever did.

His hand touched at the nape of her neck, his fingers trailing through her hair, and he leant his head to hers, his stump against her back, pressing her close. He felt her lips touch and move against his throat, felt the tears on her cheek against his skin, and he cautiously moved away from her, his eyes searching hers. Her hand caught at his chest, her fingers splaying outwards and moving across until they hovered over where his heart thumped loudly in his chest. Her lips brushed against his jaw, and he moved his head slightly against her until his mouth caught hers, and he stifled back a groan as her tongue pushed firmly at his lips.

He froze against her, reluctance creeping its way through him. His breath was tight as he inched away from her. He wasn't a complete fucking asshole.

"Honey," he whispered, "I should go." His heart pounded in his chest, and he didn't really want to leave her like this, but he knew that if he didn't-they might very well regret what could happen next. And as much as everyone else thought that he was an unfeeling asshole, he wasn't an idiot to ever take advantage of her, and never in this state.

Carol pressed her hand against his chest, her fingertips grazing his skin, "No Merle, please," her voice hitched abruptly in her chest. "Stay."

He swallowed hard, knowing all the implications in that one single damned word. _Stay_.

Pressing a chaste kiss to her forehead, he said quietly, "I should go, Carol. I don't want-"

"Please," she pleaded. "Stay."

He sighed as he looked at her.

His fingers touched at her cheek, and he watched as her eyes fluttered shut at his touch. The blood thudded thickly at his temples, pounding hard at his ears and as he lowered his head to hers-as his mouth eagerly sought out hers, he thought that it was the only damned sound he could hear. She shifted against him, her lips pressing firmly to his, her tongue softly and persistently pressing at his mouth, and he parted his lips to her, his arm pressing her to him as he gave himself over to her kiss. Her tongue fought with his and he stifled a groan as she kissed him, her hand on his chest smoothing across his skin, brushing across his chest and he grasped at her, kissing her deeply at the sudden friction of her hand against his nipple.

She moved against him, the blanket falling away, and Merle was all to suddenly aware that she had nothing more on than a strappy little vest top, and as he moved his hand, one strap fell loosely across her upper arm. He stopped for a moment, watching her warily. She was looking at him unwaveringly with eyes that blazed fiercely, and he knew then that he had never wanted anyone as much as he fucking wanted her. He trailed soft damp kisses down her jaw to her neck, licking and nipping softly at her skin, nuzzling her as he felt her hands slip underneath his shirt and vest, her cool hands chilly on the burn of his skin.

He paused, glancing at her with hungry eyes, "Ya sure 'bout this?"

She looked back at him with a soft little smile, and he swore his dick hardened in his pants just from that look alone. "Yes," she bit at her lip coyly, "Do you..."

"Fuckin' hell yeah," he grunted, "I've wanted ya for a long time." He frowned, and was surprised when she let out a little laugh. "Ain't funny," he said sourly.

She shook her head, smiling,"I know." She leaned to him and kissed him again, her hands roaming under his shirt, and he gasped against her mouth as she stroked her fingertips over his nipples, her nails snagging at the sensitive skin.

"Fuck," he rasped suddenly, "Ya don't know how much I fuckin' want ya." He nipped at her neck, his mouth roving over her skin, his tongue trailing warm and damply to her jaw. He paused, narrowing his eyes. "Take yer top off."

His hand tugged impatiently at the hem off her vest and she kissed him briefly before tugging at the material, pulling the vest off and letting it slide to the ground. She looked at him nervously, her eyes downcast. "I'm not as young as I was once," she said almost apologetically.

Merle let his eyes travel across her, her small creamy breasts bared to him in the faint light. He'd never minded the size of tits in the past, he didn't mind them big or small-but he was damned to hell if she didn't have the most perfect tits he'd seen in a goddamned long time. He raised his hand and touched at her gently.

"Yer fuckin' beautiful," he murmured, before lowering his head and brushing his tongue roughly across her nipple. She gasped, her hand curling about his head, holding him closer. He let his tongue answer any other questions that she might have had, and he growled suddenly against her breast, bringing his hand up and rubbing his calloused thumb over the hardened bud of her nipple. He slavered his tongue hot and wetly across her, before catching her mouth hungrily with his, his tongue thrusting into her mouth as he caressed her breasts with his rough fingered touch. He smiled against her mouth as she pushed herself against him and further into his grasp.

His breath fought tightly in his chest, and he tugged at his own shirt irritably, his mouth not moving away from hers. Her tongue was dancing and fighting with his, and he didn't want to part from her for one single fucking second more. Her hands slipped around his shoulders, pushing at the collar of his shirt and he begrudgingly moved away as she slowly slipped his shirt from off his shoulders and down past his arms. The yearning to feel her skin against his was goddamned overwhelming. He irritably discarded his shirt, and smirked as she tugged and pulled at the hem of his vest. He moved against her, letting her slowly undress him, all the while thinking that it one of the most damned sexiest things he'd ever experienced. Her lips trailed softly and then brushed more firmly across his bare skin, and he shuddered as her mouth caught and then nipped at his nipple.

"Yer fuckin' killin' me," he rasped thickly, hearing her soft laugh as her hands dropped lower and fumbled at the waist band of his pants. Her fingers tugged at his belt, loosening it, then popping the button of his pants. She slid his zipper down, and slipped her hand inside his briefs, and he groaned as her cool hand grasped him firmly, her fingers slipping across the length of his erection. "Jesus," he hissed as she gently rubbed her thumb across the dampening slit of his cock.

He couldn't stand it anymore, and he pushed her hand away, his one hand shakily fumbling at his pants. He managed to push them down, with no small thanks to her-she was distracting him way to fucking much with her soft mouth and even softer fingers. He grumbled as he pulled the material past his legs, irritably kicking them off, not giving a single fuck as his pants landed on the ground along where her top lay. His jockey shorts soon went flying across her cell, landing on the ground with his pants. He saw the surprise and widening of her eyes as she let her gaze sweep over him.

"I want ya so fuckin' much," he growled hoarsely, before his mouth caught at her breast again. He swirled his tongue over the tight bud of her nipple, feeling her fingers scratching at his scalp, before her other hand dipped between them and grasped at his dick. Her grip on him was firm, and she moved her hand over him, the delicious rubbing friction sending his blood pounding thickly in his ears. He kissed her throat, her jaw damply, catching her mouth and pushing his tongue in as she gripped and slowly pumped him, her fingers flowing then flexing across his rigid length. His breath ached in his throat, and his heart beat a frenzied tattoo as he felt the heady stirrings rip through him as his dick twitched in her hand, and he stiffened against her, before breaking the kiss and knocking her hand away. As much as he was enjoying the feel of her hand on his dick, and by fuck he was enjoying it-he knew damn well that he wouldn't last much longer. He wanted to come inside that sweet pussy of hers, and not in her fucking hand.

"Keep that up sweetheart, and this ain't gonna last long," he panted, before trailing his tongue damply down the soft plain of her stomach, inching downwards, and he felt her gasp and freeze against him as his touch descended lower.

"It's alright baby," he whispered, glancing up at her and seeing both fear and longing shining in her blue eyes. "Let me do this." His hand touched at her through her panties, and he growled a little at the thin material separating them, feeling her tremble at his touch. His fingers caught at the material, pulling them slowly down over hips as she raised herself to him. "Beautiful, jus' beautiful," he sighed as he tugged her panties down.

He looked at her and saw the embarrassment evident on her face. "Ya don't know it, do ya? But fuckin' hell, you are, Carol. Yer so goddamned beautiful," he whispered.

"I'm not," she sighed.

He smiled as she kicked her panties off, and then she was finally bare to him. He shook his head, staring at her."You have no fuckin' idea."

She moaned as he touched his tongue delicately at her, his stump resting across her thigh. "I ain't' gonna hurt ya," he whispered against the smooth inner skin of her thigh. He trailed hot wet kisses with his lips and tongue, nipping at her with his teeth, hearing her gasp as his scruff rubbed at her soft skin.

"I know," she panted shallowly, "I trust you."

His breath caught in his throat at her words. He touched his tongue at her, before glancing up and seeing the want in her widened oh so goddamned beautiful blue eyes. "I ain't ever gonna hurt ya."

Her eyes closed at his words, her hand skimming across his scalp. He moved against her, his stump gently moving her thigh and parting her further. He licked at her tentatively, and as soon as he heard her soft groans, the way she bucked her hips to him, he thrust his tongue at her, sucking and drinking her in, before letting his fingers join the motion of his mouth. She tasted like nothing he'd ever fucking tasted before, she was almost goddamned perfection. He heard the soft little moans she gave out as she pushed her hips at his touch, at the lapping and suckling motions of his mouth, and he felt the trembling sudden tightening of her inner walls against his fingers, and he paused, his tongue swirling and his teeth gently nipping over her delicate bundle of nerves. Her back arced against the bed, one hand catching at the edge of the bunk.

"Oh my God. Oh God..Merle," she panted as her climax rippled through her. He felt her spasming about his fingers and mouth, and as he felt the warm wetness of her against his chin, his hand-he caught her with his mouth, covering her, suckling and lapping at her as he tasted her deeply.

He ran his damp fingers softly over her skin, watching intently as she trembled at his touch, listening to the breath panting lightly in her throat. He smiled as he loomed over her and kissed her, letting her taste herself on him.

He moved away reluctantly, shifting his weight on his stumped arm, wincing a little at the sudden flare of his shoulder, sighing irritably as a sudden thought struck him, and as he shifted against her, leaning away, she looked up at him in concern.

"I ain't got no, ya know...goddamned fuckin' protection on me," he grimaced.

She shook her head, "It's okay. I can't have any, not after Sophia."

He narrowed his eyes at her, stroking at her hair with his fingers. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the side of her mouth. Her arm snaked out, catching him about his neck and pulling him back down to her. His mouth found hers again, and he kissed her deeply, his tongue surging and fighting with hers. Her fingers rubbed across his nipples, and he bit back a deep growl as he guided his dick in to her with his hand. She felt so slick and tight around him, it was fucking wonderful. He thrust slowly into her, stopping when he heard her quick gasp.

"I ain't hurting ya, am I?" he asked worriedly.

"No," she panted, her hands trailing across his back, touching at his scars. "Please...Merle. I want...I need you," she pleaded.

He pushed himself further into her warm tightness, growling softly against her throat. "Yer so wet, so goddamned fuckin' tight," he grit his teeth and sighed. "Perfection. I wanna fuck ya so bad, honey."

She kissed him, her tongue pushing hungrily at his lips, and he parted his mouth to her, pressing his tongue to hers, wanting to feel and taste her all over again.

His dick throbbed inside her wantonly, and he thrust deeply into her, his arm scooping underneath and pressing her firmly to his chest. Her hands skimmed across his back, her fingernails trailing and then digging into his skin, and she shifted her hips against him, allowing him a better and deeper access. His blood thundered heavily through his veins as he thrust into her. She gasped against his skin, her lips moving against him, and then her teeth were nipping at his throat, as her hands flattened out and gripped him tightly. He slipped slowly into her, feeling her inner walls deliciously tight around his throbbing hardness, and he withdrew, before thrusting at her again, filling her deeper. He pressed his face to her shoulder, all the while his heart yammering like crazy in his chest. He'd wanted her for so fucking long, and he knew now...that without her, he felt like he was nothing. He wanted her so badly. He was falling for her, and he couldn't fucking help it. He was falling for her hard.

She shifted her hips to him, raising her legs so they settled against his hips, allowing him a better and deeper angle, and he took it without question. Her hands slipped down his sides and grazed across his chest, her fingertips skimming and flicking over his nipples, and he pounded at her, scooping her up in his grip, even as he adjusted his weight more to his good arm. His shoulder ached like a goddamned bitch, but he didn't give a shit. He could only think about how much he fucking wanted her, and just how much he wanted to fuck her.

He groaned against her mouth as he kissed her, his lips crushing hers as his tongue swept across and plundered her mouth. She kissed him back with equal fervor, her own soft little gasps and moans spurring him on. She gasped against his mouth, against his lips as he pounded deeper into her, and he covered her mouth firmly with his, swallowing the sound of her moans of pleasure.

He pressed her closer as he pounded at her, feeling her delicious sleek tightness grip at him, and he pressed his lips firmly to hers, kissing her deeply when he felt his own groans threaten to tear from his throat. He buried his face into her neck, smothering the sound with her softness. She held on to him tightly, her arms banding about his back, even as her legs pressed him closer and he felt her warm tight slickness grasp at him, her wall's spasming raggedly against his swollen throbbing dick, pushing and spurring him onwards, and he slammed into her as deep as he could, before shuddering twice and finding his own sweet goddamn blissful release.

They trembled against each other, bathed in the hot sweating after glow of their coupling. His heart thundered rapidly in his chest, and he smoothed his hand across her fevered skin, across her taught nipples, his palm resting below her breast and capturing the frantic throb of her heartbeat.

He raised his head, watching her narrowly as he lowered his mouth to hers. She kissed him back almost lazily, and then she gave him such a beautiful small smile, her eyes shining so vividly blue that Merle felt his heart drop at the sight.

He moved against her quickly, scooping her up until he was on his back and she was pressed on top of him. Her head rested on his chest as she struggled to catch her breath. Her fingers smoothed across his skin, curling his chest hairs between her fingers, and he lay there, listening to the heavy yammering of his heartbeat. She kissed his jaw quickly, before reaching out and grabbing at the thin blanket, tugging it over the both of them.

He pressed a swift kiss to her temple, before sighing irritably. He found that he didn't want to go back to his cell, not after this-but he knew that she didn't need the local prison gossips running their damned mouths off either.

"Merle?" Carol said softly, her fingertips smoothing little patterns over his chest.

"Huh," Merle grunted reluctantly. He paused for a moment, finding that he really didn't want to escape from her warmth and comforting nakedness, and that in itself was a first for him. He'd never stayed with a bitch after he'd fucked them, but this was so different. He didn't want to leave her, but he knew that he should.

"I gotta go, 'fore some dumb fuck see's what's gone on," he glowered.

"Don't go, not just yet," she whispered.

To be honest, Merle didn't give a rats ass what the others thought. Except for his baby brother, and her. She leaned against him, her hand cupping his chin, and she smiled at him before pressing a kiss to his mouth, and then another to his jaw and throat. His breath floundered in his chest at her touch, as he wrapped one arm firmly around her shoulders.

She snuggled into him, one leg slipping between his, her hand trailing down his neck, touching and then resting against his chest. His hand hovered over hers, before resting firmly and pressing her palm to his chest. Their fingers entwined and he kissed her, smiling in the thin light as he heard her soft murmur of contentment against his skin.

…

Rick paced restlessly, Judith in his arms. He was at his wits end-he didn't know what the baby's problem was-she had been wailing and sobbing, and he had done everything he possibly could to try and soothe her.

He made his way to Carol's cell, knowing...or hoping that she'd be awake and at least able to help.

He stepped across the metal gangplank, his feet inching silently forward towards her cell... and then he froze at the sight before his eyes.

Carol lay on her bunk, but she was most definitely not alone.

Rick gaped at the sight in something that was bordering on sheer horror and confusion. Carol lay sleeping in Merle's arms. Rick saw the way that the other mans arms were wrapped around her, and the blanket half covering them both doing precious little to hide what had obviously gone on.

As he watched, Merle stirred in his sleep.

Rick clamped a hand firmly over Judith's eyes, before hurriedly stepping back a few paces into the corridor, his gaze fixed firmly beyond her cell. He snapped his mouth shut, and turned quickly on his heel, slinking back to the relative safer confines of his own cell.

If anything-the next meeting he'd attend (and he would ask it for to be held as soon as possible-first thing in the damned morning even)...he would _have_ to insist on the necessity for privacy. A few tarpaulin sheets or thick blankets...hell _any_ damn thing to cover over the cell doors would be a good enough of a start for now.

He sat on his bunk, jiggling Judith on his knee as he rubbed at his beard with his hand. He wondered just how long it would be before he could get rid of the disturbing mental image of Merle Dixon's naked white ass from out of his head.

...


	30. Chapter 30

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.**

_A/n: A slight turn around...a different perspective. I have always liked Michonne, and I am going to start bringing her pov a little more into the fic. I only hope I do her justice, having only brought her once into this fic so far. But I have realized that for this story to progress (in certain areas)-I really need to have somebody else's pov...and I couldn't think of anyone so far removed from the main characters here, Merle and Carol. This chapter was a challenge, but alot of fun to write._

* * *

...

They had been tracking unceasingly for the last few hours; roaming through woods and large expanses of open grassland in relative silence. Several times she had looked at him, quietly watched him as he observed the lay of the land in his own easy offhand confident manner. But as the miles stretched on-as the time stretched and ticked past them, she saw his shoulders slump, his ever increasing annoyance as his boots kicked up irritably through the long faded strips of crisp grass.

They were getting nowhere, and she was now starting to feel his simmering frustration too.

Michonne wasn't fooled at all-she knew damn well that it wouldn't be easy, and this after all was only their third run together, but they hadn't had found one single track for several miles after the burning ruins of Woodbury. The cool certain confidence that she first felt when they'd started was now trickling away, and at times she wondered if it would have been easier trying to track down the Governor by herself, alone and without the added complications that company wrought.

Daryl however, had insisted that he come along-his own need for retribution compelling him, and she couldn't deny him, not after what had happened. His brother Merle, was an ass, and she had history with him-maybe a few more reasons than most to wish him ill grace... but she understood. She sympathized with Daryl, and she found that the sympathy ran as far as to Merle now. She didn't totally understand why and what he had done at Woodbury -would never understand his reasons, but she understood why he had gone after the Governor like he had. It was the same reason that had compelled her to help him.

She knew what he was capable of. That the Governor loose and on the run was an even greater threat than before, she was under no illusion. She'd seen first hand how so easily he could zoom in and target and manipulate others. He'd had Andrea under his spell from the minute the blonde woman had set eyes on him, and Michonne was thankful that she was never the blind trusting fool. Her old life would have mocked her for that, as much as this new life would have.

Michonne just wanted to find him. To put an end to it all, finally. Then, maybe then she could allow herself time to lower her guard, relax enough to...maybe even allow others in, and mostly-the desire and fragile hope to be able to remain in one place, and maybe even call it home. She was tired of running, tired of being alone-as much as it surprised her. Being at the prison and seeing how the others related to each other, cared for one another had shown her that there could possibly be a different way to live in this new brutal world.

It surprised her that she felt this way. The need, the longing for companionship, the feel of belonging. She hadn't felt that way since before camp...not since Mike...not since Andre. She swallowed quickly at the thought of their names. She couldn't think about _them_, not now, not right at this minute. She couldn't and wouldn't allow the sharp spears of guilt and pain guide her thoughts down a different path.

Not now. They would have to wait.

"Do you see anything?" she asked, blinking rapidly against her thoughts. The hunter had stopped in front of her, several yards to her right, and she observed him carefully.

Daryl paused, not answering, his head cocked to one side and she watched as he knelt down to the ground. She stepped forward, stopping when he held his hand up to her, palm flat in the air. Glancing at the small flattened out area of grass, she struggled to see what had caught his attention.

"Daryl, what is it?" she frowned, her fingers lightly drumming the hilt of her katana.

He didn't answer straight away, just inspected the ground closer, lowering his head; hair dangling in his face. He huffed quietly then lowered his hand, his fingers drifting through the earth before he raised his hand holding something that she couldn't quite see tightly between his fingers. Rising to his feet, he let out a steady slow exhale, the gust from his lips blowing strands of hair from his forehead as he turned to her, his eyes squinting.

"Cigarette." He rolled it between his fingers, "Looks like a menthol tip."

Michonne stared at him, then shrugged. She let one finger uncurl around the hilt of her katana, stroking it with the pad of her fingertip, feeling the leather bindings sooth at the prickle of the corners of her mind. "It's just a discarded cigarette."

Daryl shook his head slowly, as if trying to recover a memory. "Shit, I dunno if it means anythin', 'Chonne." He hummed quietly to himself, before raising his head and looking at her, his bright blue eyes peeking and darting through his thick dark fringe. "Just I remember is all, Martinez smoked these. Might mean nothin' like I said," he sighed.

She stared, her eyes moving from his to gaze across the grassy open expanse. "Daryl, it's a small world. It could just mean than more than two people smoke menthol tips."

Daryl frowned at the remnant of the cigarette clenched between his fingers. "Maybe."

"Do you think that he could be with Martinez, after what we saw? The Governor? He slaughtered his own people, his own men."

He grunted as he looked at her for several long seconds, then he cocked his head, "See there?" he indicated a few patches of seemingly flattened dried grass, several small gouges in the thick hard earth. "Was a camp, few days ago I reckon. Maybe two-three days?" He slipped past her, pausing and looking over his shoulder at her, and Michonne followed after him. "Ye see this?"

She stood at his shoulder, looking where he indicated.

"RV, two, maybe three other vehicles. A tent. Whoever the fuck was here camped for a day...two at most. Grass ain't flattened enough fer longer, not enough indents in the ground."

Michonne frowned, "Are they headed towards the prison?"

Daryl shook his head, "No. Tracks lead other direction. Away."

She glanced quickly up as she heard a low groan drift across the still air, and she held her blade upwards, her fingers flexing tightly around the hilt. She saw with no real surprise that he already had his crossbow at the ready, his head tilted to one side.

She stepped from his side, breathing out a curt, "I got this Daryl."

He gave her a quick smirk, nothing more than a small upturn of his lips, a crinkle at his eyes as he lowered his weapon slightly, and she smiled at him suddenly, even as her hand shot out, the katana whispering dangerously. The walkers head plopped with a wet splat and rolled across the ground, and she plunged her blade through its soft pulpy skull, lifting one foot to hold it down as she pulled her katana from its ruined head.

A whoosh sped suddenly past her ear, and she looked up quickly as she shook the congealed blood from her blade. His bolt had plunged into the eye socket of another walker, and she nodded at him, watching as he quickly stepped forward and retrieved it.

"We should go."

Again, he only grunted in answer, readying another bolt to his crossbow. His eyes blazed at hers, and she met his unblinking gaze without hesitation, a smile starting to touch at her lips as he stared before dropping his eyes quickly from hers.

"C'mon," he muttered darkly. "Shit ain't happening while we stand here with our thumbs up our asses."

She hid her smile. She was getting used to his rough abrupt manner.

…

"Is this worth it?" she questioned, looking at him with a sardonic lifting of her brow.

"Ain't got much ta fuckin' lose," he said as he stood restlessly shifting the crossbow in his arms.

Michonne turned from him, glancing at the small row of houses lining across from the road. They'd parked their SUV close, and she felt an ironic thrill speed through her as she looked at it. It was the one that they'd used when they'd rescued his brother and taken him back to the prison, bleeding and stubbornly clinging onto life. And now they were using it to hunt down its original owner.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"Might as fuckin' well." Daryl glanced up at the darkening sky, "'sides we gonna have to camp down fer the night. We ain't gonna get back in time, no chance."

She hummed in agreement. They were at least thirty miles from the prison, and she knew all to well the risks of being out on the open road in the dark. "One house. We don't have time for any more." She gestured one gloved hand towards the houses, "Take your pick."

Daryl took a quick appraisal, then nodded, indicating her to follow, and she did without question. It surprised her how quickly she could trust him, how quick she could trust the majority of the group from the prison.

They stepped up a small porch, their feet softly thumping at the dark stained wood. Her katana was poised in her hand, the blade pointing downwards, and she watched as Daryl edged silently, his crossbow pivoting side to side in his hands. He leaned towards the doorway, before pushing his shoulder at the door and pausing, his eyes quickly surveying the entrance. She stood slightly to his back, watching for any motion behind them.

His quick inhale of breath was audible to her in the stillness, and he shunted the door quickly open before stepping through. There was enough light filtering through that they didn't need their flashlights, and she turned at his side, stepping off into the opposite direction as he paced stealthily to her left.

It turned out that they hadn't had need to do anything. For once they'd found a place that was walker free. She helped him shift and push furniture, effectively blocking the entrance and the two large windows in the living room. Thick heavy drapes shielded the interior of the windows from outside view, shrouding the room in dense shadows that danced and flittered in the thin wan light.

"Check the kitchen, I'ma go upstairs," Daryl gave her a small brief nod as he pushed past her, one foot lifting and treading warily on the stairs.

There was nothing more threatening than the dismal paltry array of food stocks that she found in the cupboards in the kitchen. A few tin cans and some jars of fruit preserve. Anything else she discarded; packets and cartons of rancid foodstuffs swelled and blown out in its packaging, long past it's shelf life.

Michonne drifted back into the living room, placing the few tins, jars and cutlery she'd found on a low dusty coffee table. Tugging off her backpack, she unzipped it and reached for her bedroll, unfurling it onto the grimed carpet. She pulled out a second, leaving it next to hers. Her katana she lay in its sheath to the side of her bedroll, before pacing across the room, one gloved hand palming at the pistol tucked into her waistband.

"Anything?" she asked as Daryl made his way back down the stairs towards her, and she noted the blankets tucked under his armpit, his crossbow dangling loosely in one hand.

"Nah, weren't nothin'. Here," he tossed one of the blankets to her. "They ain't smellin' too good, but it's gonna be cold tonight."

"Thanks," she replied. She sniffed dubiously at the blanket; it smelt ripe, but nothing more than aged old damp and mildew. "Has to be an improvement on that blanket you gave me on our last run. I swear you gave me fleas."

"Pffft," Daryl smirked. "Weren't exactly my fault."

Michonne rolled her eyes at him. His eyes darted from hers, and he moved over to the coffee table, sitting down on the floor and picking a can up. He opened it and took a spoon, ramming it in and lifting a spoonful of beans to his mouth. He ate nosily, slurping at the bean juice and Michonne had to bite back the laugh as she took a can for herself.

"The beans are _that_ good?" she asked, opening her own can, and seeing with no great surprise that she had the same. She ate hers more delicately, perching on the edge of the table and looking down at him.

Daryl shrugged, "Foods, food, ain't it?"

She watched as he finished his can, wiping his mouth carelessly with the back of his hand, before grabbing another tin.

"Well, there's food, and then there is _food_. Fine dining, fine wines and even finer clothing. I miss that at times-the parties, the social gatherings, the chance to let your hair down. Wearing nice heels and elegant dresses that don't stink to high heaven of walker guts." She looked down at her pants, even though they were black she could still see the dismal staining along her thighs.

Daryl huffed, "Ya really miss that shit?" He shook his head, spoon raised to his mouth. He paused before shoveling it in. "Wouldn't have thought that of ya," he said chewing a mouthful of beans.

"I was quite the hostess," she admitted. She remembered the trials it had been at times to try and persuade Mike to scrub up all nice and clean and presentable, to persuade him to lose his ever present friend Terry for just _one_ night, just so that they could have the apartment to themselves and host a more civilized night that didn't consist of baseball, sweat pants, beer and weed.

"Most of my nights-when Merle was actually there, was keepin' my head low from him an' his tweaker friends. Ain't never had no fine assed dining an' crap, tho'. Merle would'a laughed himself sick over shit like that." He glanced away from her, and placed his empty can on the table, the spoon handle poking out.

She ate her food slowly, chewing it almost mechanically. There were times that Daryl would mention his past-just vague little snippets, and she knew now from old, that if she tired to persue the conversation, he would just clam up. She let the silence stretch out between them, wondering if he was going to say anything more on the subject. When he didn't offer up any thing else, she nudged a jar of the fruit preserve towards him.

Daryl looked down at it and shook his head, instead reaching into his leather vest and pulling out a pack of cigarettes. He pulled the packet open, spitting as he saw one bent cigarette and a stub of a smoke residing inside.

"Shit," he hissed. "Must'a left my other pack at the prison." He glared at the smokes, before taking out the stub and lighting it, inhaling deeply before puffing it out at her, the grey smoke spiraling lazily between them.

"Smoking is bad for your health," she chided in amusement, watching as he narrowed his eyes at her, before chuckling.

"Yeah, an' like that counts fer shit. Tell ya 'Chonne, if Im'a go out? I'll go with a fuckin' smoke in my goddamn mouth." He took another inhale, breathing the smoke out quickly, and then dropping the remnants of the cigarette into one of the empty bean cans. It fizzled slightly inside the tin, a little plume of dark smoke drifting out.

"Early start?" she asked as she paced across to her bedroll, sitting heavily on it and tugging her boots off from her feet. She looked up as she heard him move towards her.

"Yeah," he agreed, "We'll travel further down the road, mark it on the map." He sighed heavily as he unrolled his, and laid down, pulling one of the blankets across his legs. "Dunno if we gonna find fuck all in the mornin' though. It's pissing me off," he admitted.

She lay down on her bedroll, tucking her arms underneath her neck and cushioning her head. She gazed up at the ceiling with unseeing eyes, feeling his same frustration. She turned her head to the side, watching as his shadow fidgeted close to her. "New morning, new start. You never know, Daryl," she said quietly.

Daryl only grunted in reply, and she closed her eyes, letting the weariness drift and carry her off to a place where the undead never roamed and her sweet little boy lay smiling up at her in her arms.

…

They didn't take long in the morning, the few meagre things that they'd found at the house packed tightly and stored safely in the vehicle. There was precious little in the nature of food items, but they had found a stack of blankets and sheets in a closet, several spare shirts, pants and a pair of boots. Michonne had found several items of toiletries-a few bars of soap, several half used bottles of shampoo and shower gel. She figured that they'd take what they'd found-with the ever increasing populace of the prison, anything that was found would be of value and use.

One of the bedrooms that they'd investigated further had once belonged to a teenage kid...a boy she assumed, judging from the posters held with thumbtack on the walls. She had smiled as she had peeled one down-a promotional poster for an X-men movie, and she'd thought at the time that maybe Carl would like it to brighten up his cell. She'd also found a few comic books-and she had carried those and packed them away into the SUV as if they were a precious cargo. She knew Carl would like those for definite, and she couldn't wait until they got back to the prison to surprise him.

…

They'd been traveling for little over an hour before they found him. He was stood in the middle of the road, an almost pathetic solitary figure, made smaller by the avenue of tall dark trees lining both sides of the pine littered asphalt.

Daryl had braked suddenly, the SUV screeching to a sudden halt; breaking her from her reverie as she had watched the endless monotonous blur of green and browns from the passenger window. She'd shifted in her seat, eyes widening as she contemplated the lone figure. Daryl was out of the car long before she was, and she'd been surprised by that-his reflexes quicker than hers, which to her was no small mean feat. She'd always prided herself on her reactions, but damned if that Dixon wasn't quicker.

As she got out of the vehicle, her hand straying towards her katana, she caught their conversation. Daryl was eyeing the stranger with an interest bordering on curiosity and contempt.

She stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder as she turned to face the stranger full on. "What's your name?" she asked curiously.

The man dragged his eyes from the hunter, glancing at her. "Bob. Bob Stookey. You people have a camp?"

Daryl looked at her quickly, biting at his lip. He lowered the crossbow in his hands marginally as he faced the stranger, "How many walkers have ya killed?"

Bob paused before answering, a frown drifting across his face, his dark brown eyes widening. "Haven't kept count. I don't know. A couple dozen."

"How many people have you killed?" Michonne intoned. These were the questions that they were to vet new people with. The council had set these questions-these rules in place. They had to be answered, and they had to be answered honestly, without hesitation. With the ever present threat of the Governor...or anyone else come to that, they couldn't just blindly accept anybody into the prison's community. Not any more.

Bob looked at the ground, before answering so quietly that Michonne had to listen intently in case she missed his answer. "Only one."

"Why?" Daryl asked, his eyes narrowing and scrutinizing the stranger stood in the middle of the road before them.

"She asked me to," Bob replied. Michonne didn't miss the sadness that tinged his voice as he answered.

Daryl took a quick glance at her, waiting for her confirmation, and when she nodded tightly to him, he turned back to Bob. "Ya want to come with us?"

Bob shuffled nervously on his feet, his eyes darting from one side of the road to the other. He faced them again, his eyes downcast, but he nodded slowly in agreement. "Yes."

"Ya don't got any questions for us?"

"No. It doesn't matter who you are," Bob answered quietly.

Michonne frowned at him, "Really?"

Bob nodded, his eyes drifting towards her. He finally met her gaze, and Michonne felt saddened to see the hurt and loss in his eyes. "Yeah." He stepped forward a few paces towards them, sheathing the battered machete he bore into the belt at his waist. "It doesn't matter."

She stepped back a few paces with Daryl at her side, but she saw from the look that he gave her that the matter had already been pretty much decided. Today they wasn't going to pursue the Governor. Today, they were going to go back to the prison, and they were taking Bob Stookey with them.

...


	31. Chapter 31

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.**

_a/n: This has been quite an awkward chapter to get started and write...more so as certain characters didn't want to do what I wanted them to do. But I did manage to reign them back in, and pull this chapter away from the angst that they seemed to want. Damned stubborn muses._

_Thank you to everyone that is still here with me in this fic. I always appreciate your kind words._

* * *

...

The water hissed out of the shower, the sudden coldness of it prickling her skin and Carol rubbed at her arms, blinking the water out of her eyes as it run down her face, gazing in the semi darkness of the shower room. She saw a bottle of shower gel, and feeling a small pang of guilt at the owner for leaving it there, she used some to wash and soap herself, rubbing her fingers vigorously through her hair and scalp-all the while trying not to remember what had happened just a few mere hours ago.

She felt confused and anxious.

That she had lowered her guard so much to Merle made her question exactly had happened-what had brought them both to this point. But she had been heartbroken all over again when he'd gone to her, as she felt almost every single night, the dreams of her daughter flickering through her mind like broken sepia memories; the realization as always on waking that knowing that Sophia would be nothing more than a dream to her. And as much as she tried desperately to remember her before the turn...after the turn...at the quarry-the memory that she carried first and foremost, obscuring any other thought; was of Sophia stumbling out of that barn.

Carol turned the water off, and stepped out of the shower cubicle, clutching a towel. She wiped herself dry, and dressed in the fresh clean clothing she had brought with her, rivulets of chilled water dripping from her hair and running coolly down between her shoulder blades. Stepping towards a mirror, she wiped at it, her reflection fogging and misting in the pitted glass. She dragged the towel over her head, drying her hair quickly, frowning back at her reflection as she saw the wispy grey curls defying gravity and the smoothing motion of her hand, flattening then springing back up; a soft halo of fluffy curls.

She suddenly felt as ridiculous as she looked, gazing irritably at her own reflection.

Merle had long gone from her cell when she had awoken, and she had felt grateful for that. The only man she had ever really been with had been Ed, and she all to well remembered what it had been like every single morning, waking up next to him in their bed. The awkward conversations-fearfully choosing careful placating words to try desperately not to upset the precarious balance of things. The waiting to see if she would get punched or slapped, the waiting nervously for the next verbal onslaught.

Carol felt the breath well up in her chest, and she held her breath tightly, before slowly letting it out from her lungs. How Ed would make her feel. Worthless, degraded...and worse.

But this wasn't Ed. This was Merle...and she was thankful that he'd gone before she had awoken simply because she didn't know how to react, how he would react. Maybe Merle regretted everything. Maybe he didn't and he'd only used her for sex. She knew of his past reputation where women were concerned, and she half wondered if she had foolishly made a mistake.

He had been tender with her, careful, though-and it was something that she'd never imagined a man like Merle Dixon even being capable of. It surprised her and confused her.

Carol sighed regrettably. She just didn't know, and the not knowing made her feel something that she hadn't truly felt since the quarry, since before Atlanta. She felt vulnerable.

She paced into the laundry room, dumping her towel and dirty clothing into a plastic bin that served as a laundry basket where a pair of Rick's pants and one of Daryl's shirts and a small pink onesie lay. It had become an unspoken rule now since the people from Woodbury had joined, that each did their 'own families' laundry. Carol had subsequently inherited Rick, Carl and Judith for the time being. She'd always done laundry for Daryl-she had done so without question for as long as she'd known him, and now she wondered about Merle. What should she do. She had done for him, as she had done for Daryl in the past, but now...now everything was different.

Glancing around the room at the various 'baskets' she saw that nearly every one of them were about overflowing. Maggie and Beth did their own along with Hershel's and Glenn's. Michonne's and Andrea's clothing were dumped together, along with Tyreese and Sasha's, separately. She pursed her lips as she surveyed the room, making a mental note that after breakfast she would have to make a start. Maybe the monotony of the chore would help sooth and clear her mind for the first afternoon she was to spend with the children.

Carol turned from the laundry, stepping out of the room and into the corridor, trying to push back thoughts of Merle and Ed. She needed to focus. She'd had a sudden thought on what to do with Story Time, and it had nothing to do with books, or writing.

…

For a few hours every morning, the kitchenette area belonged to them, the original group and residents of C-block. And every mid-morning, the new residents of D-block would spill their way into their wing, taking over tables and floor space, the children running and playing haphazardly in corridors, the adults grouped together clucking and gossiping, the noise filling the block. Carol wondered why they did, but it felt more like the reason was because that C-block was the _heart_ of the prison, and naturally everyone would feel drawn and would wish to congregate to the center and hub.

She never minded seeing the children, she liked to see them at a play. It brought a sense of an almost normality to every day. It was a reminder of the reasons why they fought as they did at every adversity that blocked and availed them.

Maggie caught her eye, and Carol went over to her, smiling a little at the young brunette as she stood stirring at a large pot.

"The masses haven't woken yet?" she asked, moving past Maggie and sorting through the mismatched and chipped crockery.

Maggie looked at her and smiled. "You know it won't be long. Carol, can you grab that bottle for Judith?"

Carol nodded, filling the bottle with spoonfuls of formula, taking the heated water off the boil for a moment to mix with the formula. She shook the bottle, mixing the contents. "Judith has been griping. Causing her father a few problems."

"It Isn't anything that we can't sort out between ourselves," Maggie shrugged.

Carol laughed as the other woman glanced at her. "It's been that way for a while. I don't think any of us mind. There's always a good excuse to take care of Judith. She's a good baby. A blessing to us all. Rick is lucky."

"We're all lucky," Maggie nodded, turning back to the oatmeal she was slowly stirring.

She watched as Hershel, and then Glenn filtered into the room, taking their places at a far table. "Always the men first," she confided quietly.

Maggie laughed as she glanced across to Glenn. "That is so true. I swear daddy and Glenn have this sixth sense where breakfast is concerned."

Carol looked across the room, watching as Glenn and Hershel sat at a table. There was no sign of the young blonde girl who usually accompanied her father. "Where's Beth?" she asked curiously, as she saw Merle suddenly appear, and she felt her mouth go dry and her heart lurch in her chest as he looked across to her, narrowing his eyes, a small smile touching his mouth.

Maggie put the spoon down and rolled her eyes dramatically. "Bethy? She's off somewhere with her new boyfriend, Zach... you know, young love and all that?"

Carol almost spluttered as she looked away from Merle, making Maggie glance at her quickly. "Oh God, I have no idea. Way too old for that," she said quickly.

Maggie laughed softly, "You're never too old," and Carol didn't miss the glance the other woman shot towards Glenn.

"We're all here?" Rick stepped into the room, dragging out a chair and sitting carefully, a semi-sleeping Judith held firmly in his arms.

"My baby brother ain't here, if yer asking Rick," Merle drawled lazily. He moved across the room, pausing as he passed by Rick, fixing him with a sudden glower. He waited until the former sheriff looked up at him, before grinning and stepping across towards where Carol stood with Maggie.

"He's still on a run with Michonne," Hershel said, adjusting his crutches against the edge of the table. "Tracking the Governor."

"Yeah," Merle muttered. "On a run with Mee'chonne. Real helpful ain't she? Tha mute. Accommodating my little brother like she does. Hell, yeah."

Rick ignored Merle. Instead he glanced across the room. "Now that we are here, I have a suggestion or two that I would like to put to the council."

Carol helped Maggie spoon breakfast into bowls, and distribute them. She paused by Rick, placing a bowl to his side, and proffering the now cooled bottle of formula, which Rick accepted with nod of his head and a murmured 'thank you'. Maggie took her place at the far table, sitting between her father and Glenn, and Carol watched as the younger man leaned towards her, an easy smile on his face.

"What are your suggestions, Rick?" Hershel asked, staring intently and leaning his arms on the table top.

Carol backed away from them all, preferring to put distance between them. She stared, then glanced away quickly as Merle came across, standing just behind her, his hand coming out unnoticed by anyone and resting at the small of her back. Her skin tingled at his touch, and as she looked at him, he raised one sardonic eyebrow, the lines at his eyes creasing mirthfully. His fingers caught and brushed roughly at her shirt.

"Morning, mouse," he smirked, before dismissing her to pay attention to the others.

Carol dragged her gaze from his, her heart thundering in her chest and ears.

"We need to make more supply runs." Rick's eyes drifted around the room. "Winter will soon be upon us. I know that we are inadequately prepared. I put it to the council, that we need supply runs to be focused on clothing, and increasing our food stocks."

Hershel hummed before answering. "I agree. The people of Woodbury, and our own group included, do not have sufficient clothing for the months to come. We will all need adequate clothing, blankets. It will be cold before we know it, and the Woodbury people only left with meagre belongings."

"I can go on more runs," Glenn said, ignoring the dig in the ribs that Maggie gave him. "What?" he said to her, before addressing the group. "I'm good on supply runs, I'm quick. I can do what needs to be done."

"Not on your own, Glenn," Maggie said quickly.

"Nobody is going on their own," Rick answered. "It will be the same as always. Several people to a run. I don't want any risks to our group-to our people."

Hershel nodded. "Same principals apply."

Merle huffed quietly at her side, and Carol looked up at him frowning. "I ain't gonna be no goddamned fuckin' good to anyone until the doc gives me the all clear on my shoulder," he said quietly to her, sourness tinging his voice. "Ain't able to use lil Merle yet."

Carol looked up at him quickly, her brow puckering. "Lil Merle?"

"Yeah, ya know. My arm prosthetic." He looked at her for a while, before smirking. "You know more than anyone darlin', there ain't nothin' else little about me."

She felt a blush burn at her cheeks and she laughed, bringing her hands up to her face as Rick and Hershel looked quickly towards her. "I'm sorry, please go on." She tried to ignore the Dixon man at her side, although her heart suddenly felt a lot lighter. Maybe everything was going to be fine, and she'd been fearing and stressing for nothing.

"Another issue, I'd like to address," Rick said clearly, "Is the issue of privacy, or the lack of."

Carol looked across at Rick, noticing that his eyes were now downcast. He clutched at Judith tighter, moving her in his arms.

"Is there an issue?" Maggie asked. "There hasn't been one before."

Rick laughed briefly, "Yes, I know. But that was before Woodbury joined us. We have a lot of children roaming freely throughout the prison. I feel that it would benefit some...I mean the majority of us."

Carol didn't miss that Rick shot a glance in the direction of her and Merle, before looking away, almost mumbling his next few words.

"A few blankets, tarps, or rugs at the cell doors would give us all a measure of security and privacy. I know it isn't much, but it isn't as if we can shut a door and shut the outside world out anymore. We need this. I know I do. Judith and Carl need this."

"It's a good valid point Rick," Hershel answered. The rest of the group murmured their assent. "We all need privacy, as much as we possibly can get. We live now in close proximity to one another. We have to try to maintain some sort of level of normality."

"I agree too," Glenn said, ignoring the quick look Maggie gave him.

"Then that's it. It's agreed," Rick answered quickly.

"Merle," Hershel asked, and Carol felt him stiffen beside her, his hand inching across the small of her back to her waist. She felt his fingers dig into her.

"What?" he said abruptly.

Hershel raised his head and stared across to him. "I'd like you to help me in the library. There are a few books I'd like your opinion on. Horticulture, herbology. I know you have knowledge from what you have told me at your time at Woodbury. I would value your input."

"Whatever," Merle rasped quickly. "I'll help ya all I can, ole-I mean...Hershel."

Hershel smiled at him, before turning to the others. "Is there anything else?"

Rick shook his head, resting the baby on his knee as she wailed suddenly. He poked the bottle of formula at her, smiling as she greedily sucked at it. "I don't think there's anything. For now?"

"Not until Daryl and Michonne get back," Carol answered. "I don't know...who knows what they've found. We can't say until they get back."

Merle grunted at her side, and she looked quickly at him. "I need'a see you, after all this shit," he said, frowning.

"Is that all?" Hershel waited a few moments. "I conclude this meeting over," he said, looking around the room, before reaching for his crutches.

Carol glanced up as Andrea stepped quickly into the room. "Did I miss anything?" she asked breathlessly. "I was on watch, with Scott."

"Ye didn't miss much," Merle said, grabbing at Carol's arm. He stared at her as she resisted him, her eyes on Andrea. "Mouse?" he questioned.

Andrea rolled her eyes at them, "I guess I'll try and catch up with Rick."

"Yeah...yeah you go an' do that," Merle answered succinctly.

Carol sighed as she watched the others depart from the room, before allowing Merle to tug at her arm and guide her outside into the empty courtyard.

She frowned at him, her heart beating a steady tattoo in her chest. "What's wrong?"

"Ain't nothin' wrong." He pawed through his pocket until he found his smokes. He lit one, staring at her through a quick exhale of smoke. "Jus' thought you'd wanna talk. Ya know? Women like to talk shit an' stuff," he narrowed his eyes as he stared at her.

Carol watched him carefully as she bit at her lip. The doubts that she'd had that morning preyed on her mind to a degree, but from the look on his face, the way he stood rigidly next to her, warned her not to give voice to any of her concerns or doubts. She didn't want him to bolt and close himself up to her-and she feared that he might just do that.

"Huh. Yer gone quiet," he scowled suspiciously. "Gonna tell me ya regret it?"

"Good God no, Merle," she said, moving closer to him, "I don't regret that."

"Then what the shit is wrong?"

"I don't know. I thought about Ed earlier-"

"Ed? What the hell ya thinkin' 'bout that worthless piece of crap for? Huh?" he asked curiously, leaning towards her.

Carol sighed. "I had been thinking about him, remembering what life was like with him. I'm trying to forget it...all of it, but he was my husband."

"You ain't comparing me to _him_, are ya? What the hell?" he asked as he stared at her, frowning. His shoulders slumped wearily. "You are, aintcha?" He puffed at his smoke, before suddenly throwing it away. "I ain't nothin' like that bastard, Carol," he spat angrily.

She stepped forward quickly, grabbing at his arm. He let himself be propelled by her until he was close and she let go of his arm, slipping her arms around his waist and pressing her head to his chest, feeling his heart thump quickly against her cheek.

"I wouldn't hurt ya," he said quietly, "I told ya that before." His arms went around her, pulling her into his embrace and she let herself sink into him.

"Merle?" she asked.

He sighed, before answering. "What?"

"I know," she said. "I know, now." He huffed at her and she felt a smile touch at her lips.

"So," Merle grunted after a moment. He watched her carefully, "Are we, huh...ya know, are we _good_?"

She looked up at him, reaching out her hand and touching at his stubbly cheek, placing a soft kiss against his lips. She felt him smile against her mouth, and she stood back slightly as she smiled up at him. "Yeah, we're good."

They both heard the car before they saw it, and they pulled away from each other. Carol watched as Merle strode from her over to the gate, where he waited, his hand resting against the metal linkings. The SUV slowly rumbled up, and he put his shoulder to the gate and pulled it open, his head turning and following the car in. He turned back and tugged the gate shut, linking the metal chain through and securing it.

Daryl flung open the drivers door and stepped out, smiling as he saw Carol. She went over to him, resting her hand briefly on his arm. "Everything okay?" she asked. "Are you okay, Daryl?"

He nodded, "Yeah, am a'right. Didn't find much, tho'. Same shit."

Michonne moved to the back of the SUV, pausing as Merle walked past her, then lifting the trunk and rifling through a box, before emerging jubilant and clutching several books to her chest. "Have a present for Carl. Is he around?"

Carol shook her head, "I haven't seen him this morning." She saw the other woman frown, and walked over to her. "What have you got for him?"

"Comic books." Michonne held them out. "I know the poor kid gets bored at times. Saw these and thought of him straight away." She held the books to her chest as she made her way into the prison.

"Who's the new guy?" Merle asked.

"We found him on the road. Was alone, didn't see anyone else," Daryl answered. He rapped on the back door. "C'mon," he called out. "Ain't none gonna bite ya."

The door pushed open slowly, and Carol watched as the man got out. He looked terrible. Dirty, disheveled and tired. But what struck her most was the weary sullen defeat in his brown eyes. He looked like he'd seen and lost a great deal.

She went over to him, standing slightly to his side, holding a hand out placatingly. "What's your name?" she asked softly.

"Stookey. Bob Stookey. So, this is your camp?" he turned his head, looking towards Daryl.

"Is home, yeah," Daryl shrugged.

"A prison. Nice. Safe." Bob glanced around quickly, his eyes roaming over the grounds and the main cell blocks.

Carol watched as Merle started to help his brother unload the supplies that they'd brought with them, stacking them in boxes on the ground. Merle caught her eye and he smiled and nodded, before clapping a hand on Daryl's back.

"So little brother. Ya puttin' the wood to the mute yet?"

"Fuck off Merle," Daryl spat irritably. "Ya big asshole."

Carol smiled at the brothers, before turning to Bob. "Do you want to come with me? I'll help you get settled. Show you where everything is, and if you have any questions-just ask."

She followed after Michonne into the prison, Bob trailing after her, and as she pulled the cell block door open, she heard an exasperated Daryl shout out.

"Merle...the fuck man? Ya got my damned smokes!"

...


	32. Chapter 32

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.**

_a/n: Initially I wasn't going to write, or even well attempt any more smut so soon in this story. This chapter originally was meant to be a little more lighthearted, with a bit of fluff between Merle and Carol, but it seemed that a certain damned muse decided otherwise- no matter how many times I attempted to write and pull this chapter back to the fluff. In the end-I just gave up. I have found that I tend to write smut a little too tender, no matter how much I try to angst, or rough it up. I guess I need more practice (haha any advice?) Anyway, this 'original' scene has been kicking around in my head for a while, I hope you enjoy._

_I am writing this fic close to the main story line, the main gist of the plot being the same, but this is AU, and it would be considering that both Merle and Andrea are both alive at this point. I will be following the main storyline loosely, but it will at times veer off into AU. As for the timelines in the series, I have, (or hope) that I have poetic license as a fic writer to alter the timelines between certain scenes._

_And as always, I would like to thank everyone still here with me in this little fic._

* * *

...

"His name is Nick."

Carol frowned a little at the earnest almost pleading look the small blonde haired girl gave her. "And he's your friend?" she inquired. She wracked her memory, but she couldn't recall anyone named Nick from the former Woodbury residents.

"Yes. he's my friend," Lizzie Samuels looked up at her and smiled, ignoring the dig in the ribs her younger sister gave.

"You're weird," Mika said suddenly.

Carol glanced about the library, her eyes drifting from the two small girls stood just in front her, to the stacks of books arranged haphazardly on the dusty bookshelves. She leveled her gaze back towards them, and smiled. "Well if he's your friend Lizzie-he would be more than welcome to join us for Story Time."

Mika looked at her as if she wanted to say something, but a quick glance at her sister made her fall silent. Instead she tugged at the hem of her cardigan, scuffling her feet.

"Now I need you two girls to take your place with the others." Carol smiled at them, hoping to put them at ease. "I have something to show you all, but it has to remain our secret, and you are not tell any of the other adults. And I mean your parents too."

"I like secrets!"

Carol glanced down at the small curly haired boy, sat cross legged on the floor. "I need you all to pay extra special attention, especially you, Luke."

The tousled headed boy leaned towards her on his place on the ground. His head nodded quickly, "What are you going to show us, Miss Carol?"

She placed the book she had been reading on to the table, letting her fingers rest briefly on the hard backed cover as she chose her words carefully. The children were sat in a rough semi-circle at her feet, Lizzie and Mika now sat amongst them.

"There are bad things out there-monsters, and you need to be able to look after yourselves. There's going to be times that you will find yourselves alone-without an adult to look out for you. You have to be prepared."

Their eyes were fixed widely on her, watching as she moved and laid her hand on a large wooden box at her feet.

"Those things out there? The walkers? They will kill you without hesitation," Carol said, watching the way their eyes widened in fear.

She turned her head, almost jumping in her seat as the library door pushed open and she paused, her hand still resting against the lid of the wooden box. She stiffened and then relaxed slightly as she saw Merle walk into the room. He gave her an odd look, and she tried to ignore him as he pulled up a chair at the back of the room, watching her curiously. The children looked at him, before turning their heads back to her.

"Why would they kill us?" Lizzie asked suddenly, and Carol's attention was once more focused upon them.

"Because they are bad, and it is all that they know."

Lizzie frowned. "They were people once. They are people now."

"Be quiet Lizzie," Mika shook her head, glaring at her sister. "Miss Carol? _Are_ they bad? Because Lizzie says-"

"Shut up Mika!" her sister hissed.

"Bad? Ya don't know nothin', 'em things out there are gonna try an' chomp on ya first goddamned chance they get. They ain't people no more. Wise up kids. Y'all wanna listen to yer 'Miss Carol'," Merle answered curtly.

"Why, thank you Mr. Dixon," Carol said, looking at him. She turned her attention back to the children. "Now, who knows what is in this?" she gestured to the box at her feet.

Luke held his arm up in the air. "I know!" he answered eagerly. "Lego!"

She bit back a smile. "No, sorry Luke. No Lego." She opened the box slowly, saw the keen rapt expression on Lizzie's face.

"Cool," Lizzie said. The girl looked at her, a small smile on her face. Her eyes burned fiercely, "Knives. What are we going to do with these?"

Carol heard the sudden scrape of a chair and she looked up quickly, watching as Merle leaned back on his chair, resting his legs on top of the table to the front of him. She narrowed her eyes as he looked back at her innocently. She knew that she had to say something to him; the childrens curious gazes were fixed on him, and the last thing she needed was a Dixon led mutiny on her hands.

"Feet off the table, Mr. Dixon, please."

"Huh? Whatcha gonna do, woman?" Merle grinned, "Stick my ass in detention?"

She pursed her lips and nodded, trying not to smile at the look of indignation flash across his face.

He dragged his feet off the table, sitting in his chair and placing his arms over his chest. He raised his eyebrows comically, "Yer shittin' me, right?"

Carol ignored the gasps and giggles emanating from the row of small children, glancing across to where the larger bespectacled boy, Patrick sat leaning against a book shelf regarding them impassively. She turned her gaze back to Merle, fixing him with what she hoped was a stern expression. "Okay. You get to stay behind after class, Mr. Dixon."

"What the fu-"

"I think that's enough," she interrupted him quickly. "The children certainly don't need to hear anymore of your colorful expressions." Carol bit back a smile as he smirked at her suddenly, and she turned back to the children. "We use these to defend ourselves against the walkers. Now I need a volunteer." Carol was unsurprised to see Lizzie push her hand into the air. "Okay, Lizzie, step forward please."

Carol reached into the box, carefully appraising the girl before selecting a small knife. She handed it to Lizzie, hilt first, seeing the small smile painted on the girls face. "Now, show me how you would hold it."

Lizzie grasped the knife, the blade pointing outwards.

Carol shook her head. "No, that's wrong."

Lizzie frowned at her, as Carol leaned forward and slipped the knife from her own belt. The childrens eyes were all on her, and she grasped the knife, the blade pointing to her inner forearm. "See? You point the blade this like this. This way, you have more strength behind the blade as you bring it down," She brought the knife down, showing them. "If you do what Lizzie did, your thrust wouldn't have so much impact and also, you could so very easily lose your knife if it got stuck."

"Aren't we too little to learn this?" Mika asked, her mouth gaping open a little in surprise.

"No." Carol shook her head. "You _need_ to be able to protect yourselves, at all times." She looked at the children, seeing some of them shifting restlessly on their spots on the floor. She smiled as she got to her feet, taking the knife off Lizzie and putting it back into the chest. "Okay, I think that is enough for today. Tomorrow you will all show me that you can hold the knife correctly."

She glanced up at the heavy tread of boots, watching as Merle came along and stood near to the door, leaning one shoulder to the wall.

"C'mon kids, ya heard her. Scram." He licked at his lips as he stared at her. "I got me a detention."

Carol rolled her eyes at him, watching as the children rushed out of the room. "No running," she called out to them. "Walk in pairs and hold hands, please."

"Miss Carol?" She looked down as she felt Luke tugging at her pants. "I wanted Lego."

She knelt down to him, and placed her hands on his shoulders, smiling softly as he stared up at her with big brown eyes. "Oh, I'm sure there has to be some somewhere, sweetheart."

Patrick stepped forward hesitantly, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with one finger. "If I may?" he asked.

Carol nodded, watching him. The boy was a little bit too old to be in amongst the group of smaller children, although she had seen him try to interact with Carl, who'd ignored his every attempt. She felt sorry for Patrick. The boy seemed uncertain and awkward, and she wondered if he felt better at ease with the youngsters because he could relate to them, on their level. There certainly didn't seem to be anything malicious about him.

He stooped down to Luke, taking his hand in his own. "Young sir," he smiled awkwardly at the young boy. "I might know where you can find some Lego, if you'll allow me to show you."

"Okay," Luke answered with a smile.

Carol watched as they left the library, the door closing softly behind them, and she leaned against a bookshelf, watching as Merle paced towards her. "Do you have something to say?" she asked, raising a wary eyebrow at him.

He grinned as he slipped his stump around her waist, pulling her to him. "What's my punishment?"

"No," she laughed. "I meant, showing the children the knives."

Merle shrugged. "I dunno... You think yer doin' the right thing, showing 'em?"

She reached out a hand and gripped his arm, running her fingers slowly up and down. "Yes. Someone has to show them...someone _needs_ to show them. They need to know how to defend themselves."

He grunted softly as he looked at her, his eyes narrowed. "I know what this is about."

Carol leaned into him, resting her head under his chin. She felt his arm slip around her more firmly, his hand coming up and touching at her hair. "And that is?" she asked softly.

"Is about yer kid."

She sighed against his chest, but didn't answer straight away. "I...I don't want to lose anymore children. I can't. Not a single day goes by that I wish to God things had been different. But they're not. I can't change what happened, but maybe...maybe I can make a difference here, now."

"Daryl told me what happened to Sophia," he stared at her as she glanced up at him questioningly. "I asked him, an' he told me a while back. It weren't yer fault. Ya couldn't have known what would've happened."

She felt tears prickle behind her eyelids and she blinked rapidly, trying to clear them. "I don't know what I would have done without Daryl. I wanted to give up, hell I wanted to die."

His fingers trailed through her hair, then his hand flattened to cup the back of her head, his thumb softly stroking. "I know," he said quietly.

"These kids-they need a chance. I know what I'm doing."

"As long as yer sure."

Carol moved against him, looking up at him again. She frowned, "I don't want anyone else to know about this, Merle. I don't want Rick to know."

Merle huffed at that. "I ain't 'bout gonna go an' tell him, darlin'," he reassured. "Ain't nobody's business what happens here."

He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her mouth, and she slipped her arms around his waist, pulling him to her. He kissed her slowly, and she let out a soft little moan against his mouth as his hand slipped underneath her shirt, the callouses on his fingers rubbing and tingling her skin as his hand inched up her spine to her shoulders.

She stiffened in his arms when she felt her bra ping open and she placed her hand to his chest and pushed at him, frowning as he smirked back at her.

Carol glanced around the room quickly, before turning back to him. "What has gotten into you, Merle?"

"Ain't nothin'," he chuckled as he leaned closer, his lips almost touching her ear. "Play yer cards right and you'll get summat gotten into you," he leered.

Carol raised her eyebrows and tried to edge away from him, "How romantic."

Merle smirked again, "Oh yeah, you better believe it, sweetheart. I'ma regular hearts an' flowers kinda guy."

"I find that highly doubtful," Carol sighed.

"Huh? Ya ain't believing it?" He pulled her firmly to him, rubbing his groin at her hips. "C'mon mouse, you know you want some more of that good ole Merle lovin'."

She raised her eyebrows at him, "God Merle, you're a real charmer."

He pressed his face to her neck, kissing then gently biting at her skin, before whispering so close that a shiver ran down her spine and her skin prickled with goosebumps, "Ain't that the truth."

She bit at her lip as he kissed her, his lips trailing up to her jaw, and she glanced around the library, seeing that it was mercifully empty. "Merle," she warned, the breath now hitching in her throat as his hand wormed its way up the front of her shirt. She stepped from him, slapping at his hand. "Not here."

"You ain't saying no," he grinned as he moved with her, edging closer. "C'mon. Ain't nobody here darlin'-we got the place to ourselves."

"For now," she grimaced, frowning as his hand reached back under her shirt. "We shouldn't. What if someone came in? I don't think it's a good idea-"

"Why?" he growled.

She gasped as his hand cupped her breast, his thumb rubbing across her nipple. "I...I just don't think it's a good idea. If anyone saw us together-"

"Fuck, woman," he hissed. "They see us together most of the goddamn time."

His stump wrapped more firmly around her waist, pressing her to him, and he lowered his head to her throat, nipping at her skin again. Without thinking, her arms wrapped about his neck, and she closed her eyes to the sensation of the rough scruff of his chin scratching against her skin. His mouth moved across to her jaw, and he caught her lips with his, his tongue forcing its way in as he kissed her. Her fingers trailed through his hair, and she idly wondered at the fact that his hair was growing enough now that she could feel the short soft curls on his head.

She broke away from him, and tried to stop herself from laughing at the petulant irritated look he gave her. "They don't normally see us this way together, Merle," she breathed quickly.

"I don't give a fuck what they see, or what they don't see," he said narrowly, as he stared unblinkingly back at her.

Carol swallowed thickly at the look he gave her. She had never in her life had anyone look at her the way that Merle was doing right now. His eyes were hooded; the smoky blues of his gaze now darkened thick with desire, and he looked like for all intent and purpose that he was going to devour her like a hungry rabid wolf. It frightened and thrilled her all at the same time.

"Lock the door?" she suggested weakly, cursing herself as Merle gave her a sudden triumphant grin. He let go of her and stalked across the room to the door, and she honestly didn't think that she had ever seen him move so quick in her life. She shook her head, rolling her eyes as he took the key out of the lock, holding it up to her for her to see, before palming it quickly into the depths of his pocket. He grinned again, wolfishly, and she tried desperately to ignore the clamorous pounding of her heart, the soft little insistent voice at the back of her mind that questioned if she knew exactly what the hell she was doing.

She wiped her hands on her thighs. She knew damn well what she was doing, and she didn't need no little prick of conscience telling her of the doubts she'd had before. She bit her lip as she tried to ignore the little voice as it questioned; _yes...but what now? What does this mean?_ Carol shut that irritating little voice up, pushing it to the back of her mind. Merle was here and that proved enough for her. He hadn't run away. He hadn't used her. His actions throughout the day had proved otherwise. He wasn't acting any different with her-except perhaps he was acting a little more horny than usual. She tried to stifle the smile at that thought.

"What are ya smiling at?" Merle growled as he paced across to her. He raised his eyebrows at her in question.

She moved away from the row of bookshelves, leaning instead at the edge of the table, her eyes roaming around the room. Blinds half covered the barred windows, and she noticed that time had gotten away so quick-that it must at least be late afternoon, the sun was lower in the sky now, spilling soft shadows into the room.

She pursed her lips as he came up to her, his hand catching at and resting at her hip. "Nothing really," she answered. "Are you sure about this, Merle?"

"Yeah I'm fuckin' sure. Hell Carol-you talk too much, darlin'," he smirked. "An' I ain't wanting to talk 'bout no more shit."

Her breath caught in her throat at his look, at the way he pulled her close to him. He let go of her waist and caught her hand in his, his fingers holding hers firmly. He leaned into her, his lips searching then pressing against hers hard, moving and pushing her lips forcibly open with his tongue. She kissed him back, her heart beating frantically in her chest, and he thrust his tongue in as he pressed her hand to the front of his pants. She felt the hardness of him pressing tightly against the fabric, and she smoothed her hand against his erection as he let go of her hand.

Before she knew it, he was popping open the button of her pants as his mouth moved from hers to kiss at her jaw, his tongue hot and wet and urgent on her skin. His hand dipped under her clothing and moved against her, and he growled throatily against her skin as he felt her wetness on his fingers.

He moved away from her and she looked at him in embarrassment and confusion, watching as he shucked his shirt off, smirking at her a little as he discarded the garment.

"Merle?"

He pressed himself to her, "Shush it woman. We ain't got no time for talking. Ain't got no time for fuckin' niceties."

He leaned closer, his hand irritably pushing at the fabric of her pants, pulling it past her hips. His eyes narrowed as he looked at her and she felt her heart tug at the look he shot her. He scooped her up in his arms, sitting her on the tabletop, then he tugged her boots off, dropping them to the floor, then he pulled her pants and briefs down quickly, pulling them off her legs, before fumbling at the buckle of his belt. She leaned into him, pressing her hand to his shoulder, her fingers catching at the strap of his grimed white wife-beater, watching as he glanced up at her. She kissed him, then placed her hand over his, before moving to undo his belt, popping the button of his pants and sliding his zipper down.

Merle stared at her intently for a moment, his eyes almost black as he watched her, then he pushed his pants down, sliding his hand into his briefs as he freed himself.

She bit at her lip as she watched him, and then he was pressing himself to her, and she rest her head on his shoulder as he slowly pushed his erection into her, biting back the gasp as he pushed firmly into her. His hard unrelenting length filled her...stretched and stung at her, and she stifled another gasp as she shifted her hips to accommodate him further. He paused for a moment before withdrawing, then shoved into her more firmly, filling her completely. His mouth found hers as he thrust into her, his hand gripping her thigh and his arm resting on her waist.

She was all to aware that they could be caught at any moment-even with the door locked, but she found that right at this very moment, she didn't really care. She wanted this...she damned well _ached_ for him.

He stopped for a moment, the breath wheezing in his chest, and he looked at her as he hoisted her legs around his waist, pulling her tighter to him. She lay back against the hard solid wood of the table as he thrust into her, his hand grasping at her thigh, and she bit her lip as she felt the first tremblings stir headily within her. Her breath ached in her chest, her heart pounding so much that she thought it was going to burst out of her chest. He pushed at her, his movements slick and thick and hurried, pounding and slamming forcibly into her, his low harsh grunts punctuating the silence in the room, the only other sound her soft little gasps and the sound of flesh slapping against flesh. He was buried so damned deep inside her that she felt his balls smack into her with every single thrust.

She felt him shudder against her as she felt herself clasp and grasp tightly and raggedly against his dick. He slammed so deeply into her that she knew that she would feel it the next day. She sighed, covering her mouth with her arm, stifling the low keening sob that broke from her throat, her body trembling as they peaked and climaxed almost at the same time, their breathing heavy and stuttering in the thick heavy silence of the room as they felt their own release soar.

She leaned on her elbows as she sat up, with him buried deep inside her, and she tightened her hands around his arms, pulling him to her. Her breath caught in her throat as they stared at each other.

"Christ almighty, mouse," Merle panted breathlessly.

She smiled delicately at him, and he brushed his hand across her cheek, before leaning and pressing his forehead to hers.

She was mildly aware of how they where, with her pressed to the edge of the table, her clothing discarded on the floor, with him still inside her, his thighs tight against hers, his pants and underwear pooled around his ankles, and she had to bite back the laugh. Carol wondered then, if she could ever think of this table in any other light than their coupling upon it. This was the table that the council accorded meetings around.

Merle kissed her, his lips brushing across her forehead, his nose bumping on hers as he sought out her mouth. His tongue flickered at her lips and she opened her mouth to him, kissing him back as she curled her arms around his shoulders. He rested against her, his breath hot against her skin, and as she felt his dick go limp and slip from inside her, she found that she missed the contact of this very intimate act with him. She breathed against his skin, kissing him lightly as she pushed him away and slipped off the table top.

Merle stood before her, completely unashamed and buck assed naked with his pants around his ankles. He reached out with his hand stopping her, and she looked at him questioningly. He grabbed his discarded shirt and paused, looking at her almost anxiously, before leaning down and wiping at her delicately with his shirt. He cleaned himself off, then balled his shirt up, throwing it onto the table top as he pulled up his clothing-adjusting and tucking himself back into his pants.

"Mouse," he warned slowly.

Whatever he was going to say... she didn't want to hear it, so she shut him up with a soft kiss, leaning to him and pulling his zipper up and fastening the button on his cargo pants.

She dragged her own clothing back on, looking at him curiously. "Why do you call me that?" she asked as she fastened the button on her own pants.

"What? Mouse?"

"Yes." She suddenly wanted to know why he would still call her that. It had always seemed such a derogatory term.

He huffed at her as he buckled his belt, before glancing at her.

"Tell me," she insisted.

Merle sighed, before wrapping his arms around her, pulling her to his chest. She could feel his frantic heartbeat as she burrowed into his embrace, her fingers smoothing across the fabric of his wife-beater. His voice vibrated softly against her cheek, and she closed her eyes as he held her. "I don't know. Fuck. You were a timid little thing when I first knew ya."

"I'm not that person any more, Merle," she warned.

"Yeah, I know that. You ain't the same person I knew back then."

"And neither are you," she answered.

Merle chuckled at that. He leant his cheek to hers, kissing her. "Ain't none of us the same any more, darlin'. But shit? Ya wanna know why I call ya that? It's because-" he paused, and she wondered if he would answer, even though she really wanted to know.

"Why?" She asked, her breath cooling inside her.

He fidgeted against her, and she knew that he felt uncomfortable with her question, and she felt a pang at the fact that he was trying to make an effort- to say what he felt, even though it was so hard for him to do. "You were...but you ain't that little mouse of a woman I knew at the quarry. You've changed. But I still remember you, Carol... an' shit...hell-I don't know. I don't mean anythin' bad by it."

Carol sighed against his chest. "I know you don't."

His lips touched at her ear, his breath warm. "You ain't belonging to none," he said softly, his voice thick and rasping. "It's jus'...ah fuck it-" he sighed irritably as he pressed his cheek to her temple. "Yer _my_ fuckin' mouse."

She looked up at him and touched him softly with her hand, cupping his cheek with her palm, turning his head to face hers. She kissed him softly. And at that moment, when he stared back at her with those smoky blue eyes that she had grown to know so well, the fine lines at his eyes crinkling with affection and humor, Carol knew that it wouldn't be so hard for her to love him.

"It ain't meaning I'ma goddamned pussy," he growled uncomfortably. "'Cause I fuckin' ain't."

"Nobody said you were," Carol smiled at him. She sensed before she heard the sounds of footsteps shuffling close to the door, and she looked quickly up at him. "Merle," she hissed. "There's someone out there."

Merle stood looking at her before realization crossed his face, and he darted across the room to the door, waiting for a moment, before pulling the key out of his pocket and carefully unlocking it, his breath hissing tightly in his throat in irritation.

The door pushed open with a soft little snicker and Hershel hobbled in on his crutches, and from his demeanour, Carol saw...or rather she hoped, that he hadn't noticed anything amiss with the locked door and the two of them in the room together. He coughed, raising his fist to his mouth, a wry smile poking through his wispy white beard, and Carol felt herself almost shrivel in despair. Seemed nothing much got past the former vet.

"Are you alright, Hershel?" she asked suddenly, seeing a twinge of pain race across his face. She rushed over to him, only for him to pause on his crutches, waving her hand away from him.

"I'm fine, it's just this damned leg," he grumbled. "Finding the new one rubs against the stump after a few hours." He brought his one crutch to his chest, limping and swiveling himself around, before sitting heavily into a chair. He rested the crutches against the table and smiled at her.

"Ya ain't gotta tell me, I know," Merle replied looking at the older man with concern. "Reckon it took me a while to get used to my prosthetic." He glanced across to Carol, before turning his attention back to the old vet. "What was ya wantin'?"

"Well, I wondered if you'd help me look for a book, Merle. I'm sure I saw it in here the other day, but I'm damned if I can remember where." Hershel laughed, "Old age is creeping on me," he apologized.

Merle looked at him and raised his eyebrows, "Sure. You don't have to make any excuses. What was ye lookin' for?"

"The Herbal Medicine-Maker's Handbook." Hershel replied. "I know it sounds vague and an odd choice for a prison library, but I know it's here. I should have taken it before when I saw it."

Merle glanced at the row of bookshelves, and Carol paced over to him, pressing her hand lightly to his arm as he turned to face her. "I'll see you later?" she asked, trying to appear nonchalant in front of Hershel. God only knew that she didn't want anyone else to know about what was going on between her and Merle, and she fervently hoped that Hershel was none the wiser.

He fixed her with such a look that she felt her heart pound in her chest. Merle nodded slowly as he smiled at her, "Yeah, you bet ya will." His gaze narrowed, and he inclined his head to the table, and Carol felt the blush heat her cheeks as she realized what he was indicating.

She let go of his arm reluctantly, and stepped across to the table, grabbing at his balled up shirt and clasping it tightly to her chest. "Okay Merle," she said casually. "I will see you later. Hershel," she smiled and nodded her head in his direction.

Carol left them alone, listening briefly as Merle and Hershel discussed books, and she allowed herself a small happy smile as she shut the door behind her, and then she headed off towards the direction of the laundry room, Merle's shirt gripped firmly in her hands.

...


	33. Chapter 33

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.**

* * *

...

"You know we have a perfectly good doctor here, Merle. Caleb is more qualified than I am." Hershel paused as he walked across his cell, limping slightly.

Merle sat on the old man's bunk, tugging his shirt off his one shoulder, "Ain't wanting to see him. You done jus' fine by me, I ain't seeing no reason to go see some other damn quack."

Hershel stared at him for a moment, "Well I suppose I should be flattered. But are you sure about this?"

"Told ya, you done alright by me," Merle grunted as he glanced around his cell. A large stack of books lay on the floor in the corner, and Merle was surprised to see that the volumes on anatomy were gradually being replaced by books on horticulture, farming and animal husbandry.

He flinched as he felt Hershel's hand on his shoulder, moving the strap of his wife-beater so he could look at the wound on his shoulder. The old man was so close that Merle could feel his breath on his skin, and it was all he could do to not push the old man off from him and dart out of the cell. Instead he sat there stiffly, gritting his teeth and angling his head away, staring fixedly out through the cell door.

"Hmm you're lucky," Hershel said as he moved his fingers, and Merle felt him poke at him with his fingertips, the old mans nails scraping at his skin. "The wound has been healing very nicely."

"Huh...so what's the verdict, Hershel? I get to wear my prosthetic?" Merle asked, hoping to fuck that he could. He was starting to feel stir crazy being stuck in the prison, and he longed to be out, even though Carol had been proving to be a damned fine distraction...Merle let himself contemplate that for a few moments as Hershel examined him. Yeah, she'd been more than a damned good distraction, and he wouldn't mind finding himself being _distracted_ by her more. Alot fucking more if he had any damned say about it. Merle couldn't help but smirk at the thought. He had every intention of making _that_ happen.

"Merle?" Hershel asked, as he moved away.

"What?" Merle said, breaking himself out of his reverie, twisting his head to look at Hershel, seeing that the older man was looking at him with a slightly mirthful expression.

"I was saying that yes you can wear your prosthetic, but just as long as you take it easy and don't over exert yourself. But you were miles away."

Merle narrowed his eyes at that.

"Do you want me to take a look at your hand, or do you want Caleb-"

"Ain't wanting no doctor fuckin' S to look at it. Told ya Hershel, yer fine," he glowered.

He watched as Hershel hobbled his way to the other side of the bunk, before sitting down next to him. "Your hand?" he asked, and Merle stiffened as the old man touched at his arm.

Merle sighed under his breath, then proffered his hand; the band-aids wrapping around his palm dirty and tattered. He felt pissed that he couldn't strip them off his hand himself, on account of only having one fucking hand, and he warily let Hershel peel them off.

"You really should have changed your dressings more often. I don't know how Merle, but you are damned lucky you didn't get an infection," Hershel chided him.

Merle shrugged. "Didn't want no fussing. The hand ain't been that bad," he lied.

Hershel had Merle's hand resting palm up on his thigh, and Merle tried not to pull away. He felt awkward and weird, like some sort of queer prison bitch faggot with his hand laying on another mans leg. He thanked God that Daryl couldn't see him now. Little brother would have found this shit as amusing as fuck.

"You done?" he barked, wishing that it was over so that he could get the hell out of the old man's cell and back into the open space of the prison block. He glanced at his hand, and sourly saw the semi-circular scar tissue banding to the side of his palm. Goddamned fucking Governor. He'd marked his hide good and well, and every time he would look at his hand-he'd have that constant reminder there on his skin.

"It's as well as it can be," Hershel said sadly, looking at him. "I can't help but be shocked by this Merle, by what that man did to you. I am sorry."

"Ain't nothin' to be sorry about. It happened. Can't change shit," Merle shrugged again, his gaze softening a little at the concern in Hershel's eyes. "I dunno if I said before or not, but thanks Hershel. Ya know, for taking care of me."

Hershel stood up and smiled at him, pausing before resting his hand on his shoulder. "Just take it easy, son. You will have to exercise that hand you know, keep the muscles in your palm from stiffening up. Any exercise will be beneficial to you and your hand."

Merle got up from his seat and moved to the cell door, looking back at him and smirking widely, and he saw the humor flash suddenly across the other mans eyes as Hershel laughed.

"Ain't no problem with that-if yer tellin' me it's doctors orders," he grinned as he stepped out of the cell, and into the prison wing.

...

"Where's yer ole man?" Merle demanded, watching as Carl jumped fearfully on his bunk at the sound of his voice, the comic book he'd been reading spilling out of his hands.

"My dad?" Carl sat up, his hand idly reaching out for his sheriffs hat, where it lay next to him on the bed. "He's out at the lower field," he said frowning. "What did you want him for?"

"Wanted the keys to the armory," Merle answered.

"Oh, well...Glenn's there already, he's doing a stock take of munitions-well, at least that's what my dad told me."

"Alright," Merle said quickly, "Thanks kid."

"Merle...is everything alright?" Carl looked up at him.

"There ain't no problem. Jus' got the all clear from the doc, so I can use my prosthetic. Need a blade for my arm," he explained. Merle didn't mind explaining shit to the kid-in his books, the boy was alright. He'd heard him sticking up for his worthless ass in front of his father- and to Merle, shit like that went a long way.

"Oh," Carl said, "That's good. I'm glad."

Merle moved away, but paused for a moment, looking at the boy thoughtfully. "Say Carl, yer dad said anything else to ya?"

Carl glanced at him, his eyes burning brightly, "I don't know what you mean."

"Ya know, what we talked 'bout before."

Carl hesitated before answering. "He wants me to hand my gun in. Dad wants me to farm with him, but I...I don't know. It doesn't seem right." He looked at Merle, his gaze fixed firmly on his. "I don't want to. I don't want to just hand my gun over to him, I think my dad is wrong. I need my gun, how can I protect him, or Judith?"

Merle sighed before answering. "Listen Carl, let me give ya a bit of advice. Ya listen to yer dad-you do as he tells ya. But ya don't forget what you've learnt, ya keep that gun of yours close at hand-you'll need it soon enough. Dontcha neglect yer skills. You're a damned good shot. Don't let this farming crap come between you and what ya gotta do out there, ain't nothing changed Carl. Them biters are always out there, waiting."

Carl nodded, "Yeah, you're right."

"Ya do whatever the shit you have ta do to keep yer family safe. Yeah? I'd do the same for my brother, for Carol. Just don't ya forget."

Merle edged away from Carl's cell, even as the boy looked at him questioningly. "Merle, I got a question for you."

He grunted, "What ya want to know, Carl?"

Carl held the comic book loosely in one hand. "Wolverine, or Cyclops?"

Merle bit back the laugh at the look on the young boy's face. He was all too aware that a lot of them in the prison still thought of him as some dumb assed ignorant redneck. He brandished his stump in the air. "Wolverine all the way, kid," he grinned as he heard Carl's sudden laugh.

...

"Ya got any bayonets in there with all that shit?" Merle asked as Glenn looked at him warily. He leaned against the bars of the cell that was now the armory, watching the Asian closely.

"I don't know. I was checking on the hand guns and the rifles, but not blades-"

"Jus' look will ya, Kim-chi?" Merle snapped irritably.

Glenn hoisted a large navy blue duffel bag to the table top, "That isn't my name."

"Wha'...Kim-chi?"

Glenn glanced at him. "Yeah. You know what my name is, Merle," he answered tightly.

Merle shrugged, noticing that the sneaky Asian was watching him out of the corner of his slanty eye. "Yeah, I know. Hell-keep yer cool, Jet Li," he smirked.

Glenn sighed, looking away from him and began digging into the bag. "Jet Li-he's Chinese."

"I know that." Merle couldn't help himself as he watched Glenn's shoulders stiffen. "So, John Cho? Ya found any yet? Time's a wastin' an' I got a lot of shit to do."

"At least _he's_ damn well Korean," he turned to face Merle, holding out a blunted and rust covered bayonet. "This is it," he shook his head, watching Merle narrowly. "The best of what is here anyway."

Merle glanced at the blade, and grinned. He would have to clean the rust off the blade and sharpen it, but that didn't matter. It wouldn't be long until he was finally back in action. "Thanks man," he said taking the bayonet off him and slipping it into his belt at his side.

Glenn looked at him for a moment, then shrugged again, pulling at the duffel bag and zippering it shut. "Anything else?"

"No," Merle grunted as he turned back at the entrance of the armory.

"So, you will be coming on supply runs with us?" Glenn asked cautiously, his back to Merle.

"Ain't really thought on it." He raised his eyebrows, "I guess I will. Ya ain't gonna have a problem with that, huh, Jet?"

"As long as you keep your shit together Merle, I don't have a problem."

He huffed quietly. The cheeky bastard, Merle thought-he ought to pop him on his ass for that. He smiled at the mental image, before answering slowly. "As long as you can keep _yer_ shit together, we'll be jus' fine."

"Good, we're agreed then," Glenn answered curtly, holding a pistol in his hand.

"Look Glenn. We ain't gotta be liking each other. An' shit, I got a whole lot more reasons to be liking you even fuckin' less," he stopped when he saw the hot angry look the Korean shot him, and edged closer, holding himself stiffly and squaring his shoulders. He knew damn well that he could appear intimidating, and he wanted Glenn to know that he wasn't going to be fucked around with.

He rest his stump against the cell door above his head, leaning in and touching the bayonet at his waist with his fingers. "Ain't none of us happy with this situation, but we gotta get along for the sake of the others. So yeah, you keep yer shit away from me, an' I'll do the damned same."

Glenn looked at him over his shoulder, his eyes meeting his, and they stared at each for a moment, before the Asian inclined his head in agreement. "Fine," he answered back icily.

Merle nodded at him briefly, before striding out of the armory.

…

He bumped and nearly tripped as he turned the corner in the corridor, and Merle lashed out instinctively with his hand, pushing and shoving abruptly. As Merle turned to look, he saw Scott and he stopped to glare at him angrily.

"What the fuck ya doin'?" he hissed. "Look where yer goddamned going, ya fuckin' idiot."

Scott gaped at him, pushing himself off and away from the wall where Merle had shoved him, rubbing one hand over the arm of his denim jacket. "Excuse me? I _was_ looking where I was going. You came round that fucking corner like a blind assed lunatic."

Merle bristled as he paced nearer to Scott, leaning forward and thrusting his chin out. "You wanna watch yer damned mouth, boy. Or I'm gonna go an' knock your fuckin' teeth out of yer damn thick skull," he warned hotly.

"Like to see you try it," Scott goaded, even though he stepped back two paces. He held one hand out, almost appeasingly. "I don't know what the hell your problem is-"

"_You_ are the problem," Merle sneered. He felt the anger suddenly beating fiercely through his veins, and all he could think about was how much he wanted to bash this fuckers face into the wall. Knock a few of those goddamned pearly white teeth from out of the cunts mouth.

"I haven't done any thing to you. Fucking hell, talk about overreaction. You paranoid or something?" Scott spat out.

Merle moved closer, his hand reaching out and grabbing at the other man's collar, twisting the material in his hand as he brought Scott's face close to his own. "You think I don't know jackshit. But I do, you asshole. I seen ya back at Woodbury, don't think that I didn't."

"Am surprised you can think. Thought the hired muscle wasn't even capable of that," Scott smiled, even though his eyes were fixed on the other mans. He tried to twist out of Merle's grip, but Merle only held him tighter. "I know what you did at Woodbury-"

"You know nothin' boy. I'm watching ya," Merle warned. "I ain't taking my fuckin' eyes off ya." He let his fingers loosen, and he wiped his palm on the other mans shoulder, pushing at him with the flat of his hand. He smiled grimly as he saw Scott take a few stumbling steps backwards. "Your little act might have washed back there, but it don't here. Ain't none fooled-"

"You don't know what you saw, Dixon. You think you do, but shit man...you really are deluded," Scott said a little too smugly."Besides-Andrea seems to think otherwise."

"That bitch ain't got two cents worth of shit for brains," Merle grated out. "She weren't nothin' more than the Governors little pocket bitch." He narrowed his eyes angrily, "Ya put one foot out'a step, an' I'm gonna make you wish you'd hadn't been fuckin' born."

Scott shook his head, stepping another pace backwards. He ran his hand through his hair, before looking at him carefully, almost appraisingly. "Say, she's a nice enough woman."

"Who?" Merle grunted. He knew that he should just walk away from this prick, but he was pissed as fuck.

Scott shrugged mildly, "I'm not sure of her name, but I've seen you with her, a lot. I even went on a supply run with her. She seemed nice enough, I think she kinda liked me." He scratched at his head thoughtfully. "Oh, yeah... I remember now. Yeah, I think her name was Carol."

The anger that was flowing through him started to turn into a full on rage, and Merle blinked rapidly as his head swam with sudden thoughts. "You go _anywhere_ near her, and I will kill you," he hissed. "You'll keep the fuck away from her."

The other man edged further away, turning his head as he saw that they were not alone in the prison block. He laughed a little, "Ha yeah, just what I thought. And I bet she doesn't even know, does she? The way I've seen it, Dixon? You're not one of the most popular people here. In fact, I'd go so far as to say that your word means nothing, and nobody is really going to believe you. I can do what I like, say what I like-and there isn't anyone here that's going to listen to you."

"Ya little shit," Merle spat. "You ain't going anywhere near her, ya hear me? I'll be watching you, and when ya slip-'cause you will, make no doubt about it, I _will_ be there."

Scott laughed as he stepped backwards, turning from Merle as he stepped into the small throng of people milling about. "We'll see about that."

Merle watched as Scott slipped into the background, watched as he turned casually and mixed easily with the newer residents. There was nothing he could do, not now. But he was going to watch him. And the first opportunity that presented itself, Merle was under no illusion on how he would deal with this situation. Scott was more than he seemed, and he was fucked if he would allow him to destroy any sort of fragile peace that he had found here. And he was damned to hell if he'd allow Scott anywhere near Carol either. He would kill him first damned opportunity that arose. It certainly wouldn't have been the first or last time that he'd considered, or done eliminating threats.

...


	34. Chapter 34

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.**

_a/n: Originally I had written a scene that was going to be used in this chapter, where Merle thinks about when he first got the bayonet for his prosthetic arm. The scene is in Woodbury with Merle, the Governor, Penny and Milton. I was going to use it as either a flashback, or a dream type of sequence, but after writing a little over 2500 words, I have realized that I cannot possibly use it here due to its length, and I really do not want to just take pieces from it. So now that scene is sitting in a file on my desktop, and I am a little unsure as to what to do with it right now. I am considering maybe posting it separately, as an almost companion sort of one-shot to go along with this fic, especially in regards to this particular chapter._

_._

_Further a/n: I posted this chapter and had a niggling feel that something really was not quite right with it. And after quite a few hours of posting it, I finally saw what it was. Alot of the end scene had to be totally re-written, so instead of just modifying it on the site, I felt I had no option but to pull and delete the chapter, and then spend quite a few hours of today re-writing and editing. I feel a little bit better with the outcome of this chapter now. _

_I don't have a beta- and sometimes you as the writer really do miss things in a story that don't come across as how you originally planned it. Sometimes it takes a few hours/days to realize the mistake. Unfortunately this was one of those times, and I hope now that I have finally rectified it._

_My apologies._

* * *

...

Merle sat on the tabletop in the workshop, the bayonet resting across his lap, and he was looking at it sullenly, remembering all to well when he'd been given his first blade back in Woodbury. At that time, he had no idea what was going to happen, and even if he'd known, he doubted now that he would have changed anything. His first kill had given him unsettled sleep for a few days, but he'd known that he'd have to do bad shit if he wanted to survive there.

He ran one finger across the now sharpened and cleaned up blade-it had taken him hours, but he had worked at it doggedly, knowing that this simple thing could mean life or death for him. He had felt useless and an inconvenience to everybody without his prosthetic arm, without the blade-and now that he had both back-it meant that shit was a whole lot different again.

"Merle? Where ya hiding at, brother?"

He looked up and smiled at the sound of his brothers voice. "In here, Darlina," he grunted, watching as Daryl turned the corner and walked through the propped open door.

"Got ya arm back," Daryl stated mildly as he moved across the room and leaned against the table Merle was sat on.

"Yeah. Ya don't know how much I missed the damn thing."

His brother raised his brows as he looked at him, a small smile touching at his lips. "Reckon I do, Merle."

"Say Daryl, pass me that sheath, will ya?" Merle asked, pointing to a nearby table.

"Lazy fuckin' ass," Daryl said as he went and retrieved it, handing it to his brother.

Merle smirked as he took the leather sheath, resting and gripping it between his knees as he slipped the bayonet inside. He'd wear it on the belt at his waist-that way the blade would always be at hand, even if he was using the prosthetic without it.

"Going on another run with Michonne?" he asked, looking at Daryl carefully.

Daryl sighed. "I dunno man. I don't know if there's any point. It's like he's just gone disappeared. We found tracks of a camp a few days back."

Merle looked at him sharply, "Did ya find anything?"

"Nah," Daryl shook his head. "Camp been gone a few days, tracks were getting old. It might have been anything, Merle. Don't mean it was _him_, ya know?"

"But it could'a been," Merle huffed quietly. He glanced away from his brother, staring across the workshop. "How far away?"

"Thirty odd mile, maybe more. Tracks were going opposite direction. We didn't see anything else, we looked, but nothing brother."

"Ya mean, closer to Woodbury than the Prison?" Merle asked curiously.

Daryl shrugged, "Like I said Merle, it don't mean no damn thing. Reckon the Governor gonna keep circling his own town? He destroyed it. Could just be coincidence, maybe a small group lost, or passin' through. We didn't find any other signs, and we'd tracked the hell out'a that area."

Merle pushed himself off the table, his boots thumping the ground. He grabbed at the sheathed bayonet, adjusting and awkwardly attaching it to his belt. "If yer gonna go back out there Daryl, I'll come with ya."

His brother looked at him in surprise, "Can go again in the morning, if ya want. I dunno if 'Chonne will wanna come, not with yer ugly miserable ass in tow."

"Fuck you, Darlina," Merle grinned suddenly. "How do you know that woman ain't got no little thing going on 'bout me? I seen how she looks at-"

"Ya know Merle, yer always full of bullshit," Daryl smirked briefly. "She ain't done looking at ya in any damned way." He scuffed his feet, glancing at Merle and looking away quickly, peering at the ground, his eyes partially hidden by dark strands of hair. "How's it going...with Carol?" he asked quickly.

Merle stiffened at the question, his hand fidgeting at the sheathed bayonet. His fingers tapped on the hilt, before he raised his hand and smoothed his palm over the thick stubble on his chin. "Is alright."

"Ya ain't fuckin' with her?"

"Huh?" Merle gaped in shock. "What the hell do ya mean, Daryl?"

Daryl shrugged, "Ya ain't messing her round? Ya dumbass. She's a good woman, better than you deserve."

"Yeah, I knew that," Merle huffed. He knew damn well that Carol was way better than he deserved, he still couldn't figure out why she'd go anywhere near his stupid redneck ass-he was only grateful that she did. "An' I ain't messin' her round. Shit brother, what the hell do ya take me for?"

Daryl raised his head and met his gaze, and Merle found that he couldn't quite meet the earnest way he was looking at him, so he dropped his eyes away. "She's good for ya, Merle. You've changed, an' I like to think it's because of her. Do ya care about her? Cause I ain't having you going and giving her any of yer shit and hurting her."

"I don't know," Merle answered sharply, feeling uncomfortable with this new line of direction in their conversation. He wished Daryl would either shut up, or talk about some different crap.

"What ya mean, ya don't know?" Daryl asked irritably.

Merle let out a long sigh. "Of course I fuckin' know brother. But talking 'bout shit like this is for goddamn pussies."

"Maybe," Daryl grunted, "But ya still ain't been and told me."

"You ain't gonna let this drop, huh?"

Daryl shook his head, "No."

"Fucks sake, Daryl," Merle growled as he pushed past him and made for the entrance. He stopped, placing his hand on the door frame, listening to his brothers boot treads behind him. "Yeah, little brother, I think I do. Alright? Now can we jus' go an' drop this shit? I'm done talking 'bout it."

"A'right," Daryl said as he walked past him into the corridor, and Merle watched him warily. "But I'm tellin' ya Merle, you look after her, 'cause if ya don't?" he warned.

"Hell, I ain't gonna go an' do any damn thing," Merle spat. They stared at each other for a moment, and Merle met his brothers gaze this time without breaking away.

"C'mon brother," Daryl replied eventually. "Reckon it's about time for food. Saw them women in the cafeteria doin' summat."

Merle rolled his eyes, and he turned to follow after his brother.

…

Daryl had been right, a few of the women from Woodbury had been busy preparing food, and Merle watched in amusement as his brother was one of the first to be served a large bowl of stew. And now he was sat next to him at a table, trying to ignore the slurping noises emanating from his side.

"Is it that good, Darlina?" he asked wryly, idly shifting his spoon through his own plate of stew.

Daryl nodded, glancing at his bowl, "Ya gonna eat that, Merle?"

Merle curled his hand around his bowl, dragging it away from his brother and nearer to him, "Yeah, if ya want more, go an' get yer own."

He watched as Daryl shoved his chair away from him, taking his bowl and heading back off towards the women. He noticed how they smiled at him, and Merle sighed. As awkward as his brother was with women, they seemed to be drawn to him regardless. It had always been that way.

He glanced away, sitting upright in his seat as he saw Carol walk into the room with Tyreese close to her side, holding Rick's brat in her arms. He narrowed his eyes as he saw them laugh together, watched as the other man leaned to her and touched at the baby's cheek with his fingers.

Carol looked over to him and smiled, turning briefly to Tyreese and she said something that Merle couldn't quite catch, before coming across and sitting down next to him.

"Why ya got Rick's kid?" he grunted, looking away from her and studying his food. "Can't that damn man look after his own brat?"

"Merle," she chided, "Stop it." She held Judith to her, her eyes soft as she looked at the baby. "I was just talking to Tyreese."

"Yeah, I saw."

She raised an eyebrow at him, before continuing. "I'm going on a run in the morning with him and his sister. We really need to get some warmer clothing for the children."

"As long as it don't go to shit like yer last run," he said, watching as she got to her feet. He frowned, "Where the fuck ya going now?"

"Quiet, don't wake her," she said quietly. "I'm going to put her down in her cot in Rick's cell." She patted at his shoulder as she moved past him.

He watched as she moved away, his eyes dropping down to her ass. He liked the way that she moved. He felt his arm nudged and he looked up as his brother took his seat next to him, Daryl's eyes following his line of vision.

"Ya still gonna come with us tomorrow?" He asked.

"I said I was, Darlina. Ain't nothing changed since then."

"I just gotta ask Michonne if she still wants to come," Daryl answered.

Merle huffed, "I think I got a few more damn reasons for wanting to find him than she does." He wanted badly to find Blake, and he thought for a moment on what _exactly_ he would do if he found him.

Carol came back across towards them, and Merle was relieved to see that she had no baby in tow. She paused at his brothers side, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder, and he saw the way that they both smiled at each other, feeling a pang of jealousy. He knew that it was stupid, but he found that he couldn't help himself. It seemed to him, that no matter what they were together- and if he was honest, he was still pretty unsure on exactly what the hell that was...his brother and her had a different type of bond that he felt he couldn't ever hope to match.

She pulled up a chair next to him, sitting and resting her hands on the tabletop. "So where is Rick?" he asked, "Ain't got no time for his own damn kid? Typical," he muttered.

"Ain't seen him," Daryl answered. "But if we're gonna go in the morning, really need'a say summat to him."

"Why the fuck? We ain't answerable to him, little brother," Merle bit back.

"You're going on a run?" Carol asked, glancing quickly at Merle.

Daryl shifted in his seat a little, "Yeah we are. Just like I've been doing with 'Chonne. Looking for the Governor. Merle said he'd come along. I don't know long we'll be gone."

"Merle didn't say," she said tightly, and Merle glanced irritably at her, relenting when he saw the worry shining in her eyes as she looked back at him. He reached under the table, his hand touching at her knee, and he squeezed her leg, hoping to reassure her.

"I only jus' found out off my brother," he said. "It'll be fine, don't ya worry, mouse."

Her cheeks flamed a little at that, and Merle found a small smile start to tug at his mouth at her look.

Daryl glanced at them both, rolling his eyes.

"Carol?"

Merle looked up quickly at the sound of the voice, his eyes narrowing angrily. Scott had come over to them, and was now leaning with his hands resting on the table, close to Carol's.

"What the fuck do ya want?" he growled, ignoring the look his brother gave him. "Ain't ya got some where else to go?"

Scott smiled briefly as he ignored him, twisting his head to gaze at Carol. "Say? You still on for tomorrow?"

"Wouldn't miss it. I've already spoken to Tyreese," she answered softly, smiling back at him.

"Wouldn't miss what exactly?" Merle asked narrowly.

Carol looked at him and laughed at the expression on his face, "I told you, I'm going on a run in the morning-"

"Yeah, but I thought it was just Tyreese an' his sister," Merle questioned.

"Well yes, but Scott is coming too."

Like fuck, Merle thought angrily. He saw the way that Scott was looking at her, and he wanted nothing more than to pound his ass to the ground.

"There isn't a going to be a problem, is there?" Scott looked at him thoughtfully and smiled.

"Nah, just my brother being a dumbass as usual," Daryl answered.

Merle stiffened in his seat. The little cunt knew exactly what he was doing. He saw it in the way that he was looking at him. Merle wasn't fooled. And neither was he going to let that shit happen. He didn't want Scott anywhere near her...didn't trust what Scott would say. Yeah, he'd seen him at Woodbury, and Merle was under no illusion about any of that crap. He'd done plenty of bad things, and he didn't want Carol to know. In case she might just go and leave him, abandon him, and Merle didn't want that to happen. Not now.

"Ain't no problem," he said quickly.

"Well, that's good," Scott grinned. He paused, glancing back at Carol, "So, I guess we will see you in the morning?"

She nodded, and Merle just wanted the fucker to go. He watched as Scott eased his hands away from the table, watched as he ran one hand through his hair as he paced away.

"Ya ain't going," he said quietly to her as soon as Scott was out of ear range.

Carol frowned at him, "Excuse me?"

Merle narrowed his eyes, "I told ya, ya ain't going."

"Brother," Daryl warned.

"I think I heard you the first time, Merle."

"Good. So that's settled."

"Like hell it is. What's gotten into you, Merle?" she asked, frowning at him.

Merle was aware that Daryl was shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "I need'a go and find 'Chonne. Merle, ya remember what the fuck I told ya."

"Whatever," Merle answered back, ignoring the look his brother gave him.

"I ain't joking," Daryl warned as he got to his feet. He shook his head as he walked out of the room.

Merle watched his brothers back retreat into the distance, before turning back to her. "I ain't wanting ya to go. That should be enough for ya," Merle snapped.

"You don't get to tell me what I can, or cannot do, Merle," Carol breathed quickly, and Merle was surprised to see the annoyance on her face, how it lit two small pink dots high on her cheekbones."You don't have no say in what I do-"

"Oh, is that right now, darlin'? I don't give a shit. I told ya, ya ain't going. An' that's that. Quit arguing with me, woman."

"Screw you, Merle," Carol answered, as she got to her feet and edged away from him.

"I ain't done talking to ya!" Merle retorted loudly, suddenly aware that the few people in the room were now watching them with an almost rapt interest.

Carol paused for a moment, before jabbing at his chest with one finger. Her gaze fixed firmly on his. "I'm going tomorrow, and I certainly don't need your goddamn permission, Merle."

He gaped narrowly at her as she stalked off, and he looked around the room, seeing the sudden gossiping smiles on the others faces. "What the fuck y'all lookin' at?" he hissed, pushing his way from the table, and striding off into the opposite direction.

…

He found himself at her cell, the thick blanket now covering the bars and the cell door. He stopped for a moment... it had been a few hours since their 'spat' and Merle had found that it sat uncomfortably with him. He really didn't want her to go. Not with that bastard. He admitted to himself that he was worried that she would believe whatever crap Scott would tell her, and he didn't want her to go and believe whatever the hell she was told. If anyone was going to tell her about Woodbury, it would be him. He resented the fact that it felt like his hand was being damn well forced.

Merle sighed. Why the hell did shit have to be so damned difficult. Why couldn't it just be easy. For once in his miserable life-he'd found a woman that he actually cared for and gave two shits about.

He pushed the blanket at her doorway and stepped through, squinting his eyes in the semi-darkness, even though she had a small hurricane lamp dimly lit at her make shift nightstand.

"Merle?" She asked sleepily, "Is that you?"

He glanced at the dim shape in the bunk, narrowing his eyes. "Who the hell else where ya expecting?"

She ignored him. "Why are you here?"

"I want some sleep," Merle grunted as he reached out and nudged her across her bunk. He sat down on the edge of the mattress, fumbling at the laces on his boots.

Carol yawned, sitting up on the mattress. She raised an eyebrow and watched him. "You know this isn't your cell."

"I know that," he said, kicking his boots off. He turned to look at her, "But I ain't seen ya since earlier," he frowned.

"And who's fault is that?" she asked wryly,

Merle sighed, "I told ya before that I'm an asshole, Carol. I can't help it." He shrugged and looked quickly away from her, staring at the floor. "I've missed ya," he said uncomfortably.

She moved up the bunk, leaning and pressing her head to his shoulder, her arm slipping around his waist, and Merle let himself sag a little against her. He closed his eyes briefly to the sensation of her fingers on the nape of his neck, softly stroking.

"Merle, I just wish you would tell me what is wrong," she said quietly.

He fell silent. He didn't want to answer her. It wasn't that he didn't trust her, he just didn't trust that little faggot Scott. He'd thought that his past would have left him alone the moment when he'd joined back with the prison group after trying to take down the Governor-but it seemed that karma and all that shit weren't quite done with him.

He shifted himself against her, watching as she moved into his embrace. His hand slipped about her waist, tugging her closer to him. "Carol," he said.

"What? I'm still annoyed with you."

"Huh. I don't want ya to be," he slipped his hand underneath her tank top, his fingers stroking at the smooth warm skin at her waist. "I jus'...hell I jus' don't want ya to go tomorrow, is all," he grumbled.

She pushed his hand away, before turning to face him. Her breath softly brushed his cheek. "Why?"

He frowned before quickly pressing his lips to her forehead. "I'm goin' with Daryl and Michonne in the morning. An' maybe, I want ya to come with me, instead of going off with those fuckin' jackasses."

Carol touched at his cheek, her fingers stroking across his thick graying stubble. "Alright," she sighed after a moment. "If it's that important to you Merle, I wont go with Tyreese. I'll go with you. But you have to be honest and tell me what's wrong."

"I will tell ya," he grunted. He leant to her and kissed her, briefly relishing the softness of her mouth on his. He broke away quickly, dropping his arms from her, and pushing himself off the bunk.

Carol watched him in amusement, "Where are you going?"

"Back to my cell. Ya ain't wanting me here, an' we both need to get some sleep."

"I didn't say I wanted you to go, Merle," she said, patting at the empty space on her bunk. "Come back."

He raised his eyebrows as he paced back towards her, "Look, I ain't no good at all with this kinda crap, but I..._hell_...I'm sorry, alright."

"I'm sorry too, Merle," she answered back hesitantly. Merle could see in the dim light the faint pink flush tinting her cheeks.

It seemed to him, that she was almost just as bad at this as what he was, and he felt a small degree of comfort in that. Merle glanced at her, before tugging his shirt and pants off, dropping them to the floor, then unbuckling the thick leather straps of his prosthetic arm. He took the limb off and placed it next to the lamp, turning the light off and bathing the small room in sudden darkness.

He lowered himself to her bunk, half tugging the blanket away from her and covering himself. He scooped his stump under his head, cushioning himself. "C'mere," he growled. She crept into his embrace, her head resting on his chest, and he curled his arm around her shoulders, his fingers touching and stroking her arm.

"You wanted to know," he said tightly, "An' I said I'd tell ya."

She shifted a little on his chest, her hand catching out and twisting the material of his wife-beater in her fingers. "Merle...you don't have to-"

"No honey, I do. Didn't want ya to go, 'cause I...huh, well I got my reasons," he said lamely.

She frowned against him, "Well that isn't much of an answer."

Merle grit his teeth and tried again. "I jus' don't want ya around Scott." There he'd said it, as much as it made him feel damn well awkward.

He felt her move against him, and she propped herself up on one elbow, leaning over him. "Why? He's always seemed okay with me."

"He ain't. I don't trust him around ya, darlin'."

She laughed softly, and leant down, kissing him quickly. "You're not jealous, are you?"

Merle huffed, "Jealous? I ain't got no reason to be jealous. Yer my woman." He stiffened as he realized what he'd just said, and he waited cautiously for her answer, his fingers inching up her back and trailing slowly down her spine.

"I said it before Merle, you really are a romantic." She cupped his chin, turning his head, and she kissed him, her lips gently brushing across his.

He slipped his arm around her back, pulling her down to him firmly. "You are though, ain't ya?" he asked, his heart starting to thud heavily in his chest.

"I don't know...well, I suppose I am. Yes," she answered softly. "But it doesn't give you any right to talk to me the way that you did. I went through enough with Ed."

"I ain't him, Carol. I'd never damn well hurt ya," he growled.

She pressed her head to his chest again, her arm slipping loosely around his waist, "I know," she said. "Merle... this with Scott? You have to be honest with me. Has this got anything to do with that time in the watchtower?"

"Ya mean when I hit him?"

"Yeah." Her fingers caught in his wife-beater, twisting the material, before she let it go and smoothed her hand across his chest.

"I didn't expect to see him, not with the Woodbury folks. I know of him from back then-an' it anythin' good, mouse. Look, I jus' need ya to trust me when I tell ya to keep away from him. Don't ya go trusting anythin' he gotta say to ya."

"Okay. I don't understand Merle, but okay. I said that I trust you, and I do. I'll keep an eye on him."

He turned his head to hers, his lips pressing the faintest of kisses to the side of her head. Her hair tickled softly against his nose; her curls soft, and he breathed in deeply, inhaling her scent. His arm tightened around her, and he felt her snuggle further into him, all the while his heart pounding painfully in his chest.

…


	35. Chapter 35

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.**

_a/n: This and the next chapter have both pained me a little to write, because I know it is the start of an end of sorts, and the start of something relatively new (although that is still quite a few chapters to come before even happening)._

_Incidentally, I have no idea how this Marol has come across-and for anyone thinking that maybe I have loved up the whole Marol pairing a little too soft and maybe a little...ooc? I will just say this-everything has its reason. Merle and Carol are both kind of screwed emotionally, and have little idea on how to handle what is going on between them. They will misunderstand each other and what is happening around them, and they will automatically react how they both know best, whether that is for the good, or the bad. __And to quote my version of Michonne in the next chapter: 'If something appears to good to be true-then it usually is.' _

_There is going to be some relative peace and angst before the proverbial shit hits the fan after the next few chapters. And it will. And everything will change soon enough._

* * *

...

Carol woke quickly in the thin morning light streaming through the top of the cell bars, glancing at the sleeping man sprawled on her bunk, his stumped arm hanging off the edge of the cot. She edged herself away from him, freezing as he moved, his arm coming around her. Holding her breath, she moved his arm away, watching him fixedly, before easing herself off the mattress and onto the cold hard floor.

What Merle had said the night before-his brief warning of Scott had intrigued her despite herself, and she had felt the curiosity prickle at her restlessly for the rest of the night. She had every intention of finding out what exactly had happened at Woodbury, mostly because it didn't seem that Merle was going to tell her any time soon.

She paced across the cell, her bare feet hardly making a sound, and she drew out her clothing, quickly pulling her pants and shirt on, narrowing her eyes as Merle moved restlessly on her bunk. She spied her boots near to the bunk next to the back pack that she had packed the night before, and grabbing at a pair of socks, she grasped at the boots.

Carol knew that he wouldn't be happy if he had an idea what she was going to do, and she rolled her eyes at herself mentally, already envisioning his reaction. Sighing under her breath, she pulled the socks on, and was just about to tug the boots onto her feet-so focused on trying not to make a sound, that she didn't notice that he'd already woken and was staring at her curiously as he lay on the bunk.

"What are ya doing?"

She jumped and almost froze in her own skin at the sound of his low gravely voice. She ignored him for a moment, pulling up and buckling her boots, before rising to her feet, grabbing at his discarded pants and shirt.

"Get dressed, Merle." She tossed his clothing to him as he pushed himself to a sitting position. "Thought you'd said we'd have to be up early for this run?" She turned her eyes from his rigid gaze, hoping that he hadn't noticed anything amiss. She fastened her sheathed knife at her waist as she watched him.

He grumbled as he pulled his shirt on, reaching out and grabbing at her arm as she walked past the bunk. "Ain't ya got a little time for me?" he questioned, glowering as she shook his hand away.

"Right now, no. I need to catch up with Tyreese."

"Why the hell ya need to go talk to him?" he grunted irritably.

Carol sighed, "I have to explain that I'm not going to go with them, otherwise they will be looking for me."

"Let 'em fuckin' wonder," Merle said, pushing himself off the bunk and dragging his pants on. "I don't care what they think."

She pursed her lips tightly, "Well, I do. Don't be too long, Merle." Carol offered him a small smile, then turned pushing the covering from the door and stepping out.

She made her way quickly to D-block, looking for Tyreese and Sasha, but not finding either of them. She was wondering if they'd already gone and left when she felt her elbow being grabbed at, and looking up quickly, she saw Scott smiling down at her.

"You all set?" he asked, his eyes roaming over her. "I think you've forgotten something."

"Forgotten what?" she asked.

His hand slipped slowly from her elbow, "Your backpack?"

She shook her head, her feet falling into pace with his as they walked through the cell block. "No, I'm not coming," she said.

"Oh, let me guess?" Scott said sourly. "Your 'boyfriend' wont let you go? Well, that figures."

"It isn't like that, Scott," she said looking at him and frowning.

"Then what is it like, Carol?" he shoved the outer door open and strode through it, not bothering to wait for her.

"I don't have to explain anything to you. I'm not going-I've changed my mind," she retorted, shivering slightly as she stepped out into the cold air, her breath misting in front of her.

Scott paused, one hand tugging at the strap of the duffel bag slung low at his waist. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by that." He watched her intently, his dark brown eyes fixed on hers. "Just feel a bit disappointed-I was looking forward to our trip together."

Carol looked across the courtyard and saw Tyreese waiting with Karen, his sister Sasha loading the trunk of the Hyundai. She tapped at Scott's arm, indicating them, and they walked together silently for a moment.

"I broke up with Andrea. It's just...oh, I don't know, it just wasn't working out for either of us."

Carol looked quickly at him, "I'm sorry to hear that, Scott."

"Yeah, me too. Although I'm not really too shocked about it, I guess," Scott replied. He nodded to Sasha as he handed her his backpack, watching as she loaded it into the trunk with the others.

Tyreese came over towards them, "You're not coming?"

She shook her head, "No. I'm sorry, Tyreese." She watched as Scott got into the backseat of the car, and saw him smile back at her.

Tyreese glanced over her shoulder, and looked back at her, blinking, "You gotta be where you gotta be, Carol."

She placed her hand on his arm, feeling the thick muscles through his jacket. "Just be safe out there, okay?"

Tyreese patted her hand, before moving away. "We will, don't you go worrying about us. We'll be fine."

Scott wound down the window and beckoned to her. She leaned in slightly, suddenly aware that they were being watched. She glanced up and saw Merle stood silently observing them, and she turned away from his gaze quickly, frowning as she looked at Scott.

"Say, when I get back, I'd like to catch up with you. I'd like a chat-you know; a friendly face, and an even friendlier ear."

"If we have time yes, okay. I'd like that Scott."

She stood back from the Hyundai, watching as it slowly moved across the concrete, and she saw one of the Woodbury men on duty, open the gate to allow them out.

She watched the car until it was out of sight, and sighed to herself. Perhaps that could possibly be an ideal time to broach the subject with him on what exactly was occurring between Merle and himself.

"What the fuck were ya talking to him for?" Merle rasped abruptly.

She turned to him, seeing anger flash across his face. His mouth was tugged down in a hard sullen line, and she sighed again, this time audibly. "I told you before, I had to explain-"

"That didn't look like you was explainin' shit. Ya gonna talk to him? When he gets back?"

"He broke up with Andrea," she said, starting to feel mildly impatient with him. "Have a bit of compassion, Merle."

Merle ignored her, "I told ya he's bad fuckin' news, and you ain't damn well listening to me."

"I think you're over reacting," she answered tersely, looking across as she heard footsteps coming towards them. Michonne was yawning widely, and as she caught Carol's gaze, she briefly covered her mouth with a gloved hand, before grinning sheepishly.

"Over reacting?" Merle rasped, staring at her. "Ain't doing that. Yer jus' fuckin' clueless, woman. But if ya wanna go listen to whatever fuckin' crap he wants to tell ya, then I'm saying-I'm done with this shit."

Carol narrowed her eyes at him. "See? You _are_ over reacting, Merle," she said irritably.

He glared at her, his eyes narrowing to angry slits, "An' you don't know any damn thing."

"Is there something wrong?" Michonne asked, stepping between them, her eyes warily taking them both in.

"Ain't nothin' wrong," he hissed, looking away from Michonne and back to Carol. He shoved her backpack angrily at her. "You forgot this."

Carol took the bag off him, and watched as he strode across to where the SUV was parked, wrenching the passengers door open, and throwing his own backpack onto the seat. He leaned his back to the frame of the car as he impatiently watched them, his arms crossed over his chest, the blade on his prosthesis poking out. "C'mon, we ain't got all fuckin' day."

"Someone woke up on the wrong side of bed?" Michonne asked softly.

Carol raised an eyebrow at her, "More like the wrong cell."

"I'm not even going to ask," Michonne answered wryly.

Merle's mood seemed to lighten a little as soon as he saw Daryl. "Hey, baby brother. We 'bout ready to get this shit on the road?"

"Merle," Daryl nodded his head as he came over to them, stopping and glancing at Carol sharply. "Ain't ya got a jacket? It's gonna be cold. Merle?" He asked, looking at his brother. "You were gonna let her come out like this?"

Merle shrugged, "Weren't nothin' to do with me if she wants to come with her damned ass unprepared. She should'a known better."

Daryl frowned at him, dragging his gaze from him back to Carol. "Wait here," he said to her, and he turned quickly on his heel and walked back towards the prison.

"Where the hell ya goin' now, Darlina?" Merle barked loudly.

"Doin' what ye should have done, ya jackass," Daryl grunted.

"For fuck's sake," Merle glared at the two women, then climbed into the SUV, slamming the door loudly.

Michonne looked at Carol, and mouthed a silent 'wow', and Carol glanced away, suddenly wondering what the hell had gotten into him-although she half suspected, but there was nothing that she could, or would do about that right now. If he wanted to act like he was-she would just leave him alone and give him some space until he cooled down. _If_ he cooled down.

"Carol?"

She looked up to see Daryl next to her, holding out a bundle in his hands. "What's this?" she asked curiously.

"I got it for ya before, on a run. It ain't nothing...it's probably too big for ya anyway. Yer a little thing," he said, shifting on his feet and glancing at the ground.

She took it from him, murmuring a quiet 'thank you'. He had gotten her a navy colored jacket, and it was a little too large for her, but that really didn't matter. It was perfect. She unrolled it, and smiled at him as she tugged it on.

Daryl smirked, "I told ya it wouldn't fit."

Carol reached out and touched at his hand. "It's perfect. Thank you, Daryl."

"Pffft. Weren't nothing."

"What did you get me?" Michonne asked suddenly, grinning as Daryl gaped at her.

"I ain't got ya-"

"Yeah, I know. Your gift to me was a whole bunch of fleas," she teased.

"Stop it, 'Chonne," Daryl said, rolling his eyes. He smirked at her before making his way to the SUV where an impatient older Dixon was staring at them through the window. He turned to them, calling over his shoulder, "C'mon."

"Did he really give you fleas?" Carol asked as they followed after Daryl.

Michonne laughed, her perfect white teeth gleaming in the thin morning sun. "Oh you bet he did. I thought I was going to have to ask Hershel for a flea collar."

Carol laughed softly at that. "For you, or for Daryl?"

Michonne opened the car's door, sliding into her seat behind Merle, watching as Carol sat next to her. "For Daryl-but don't tell him that I told you that," she said in a low voice.

"Daryl, ya still got that map?" Merle asked, ignoring the two women in the backseat.

Daryl fumbled in the back pocket of his pants, before pulling out a battered dog eared map, and tossing it to his brother before climbing into the drivers seat. He started the car, and pulled out slowly, waiting for the tall thin Woodbury man to pull open the gate for them. They drove down the dirt track, and Carol glanced at the few walkers moving eagerly at the main fences and gate.

"Got a plan where we're gonna go?" Merle asked, spreading the map over his legs, resting the top of it across his knees.

"We have pretty much tracked the areas that Daryl has marked out in red marker pen," Michonne said. "A thirty mile radius-give or take the odd mile."

"Huh," Merle grunted, looking at the map again. "Woodbury?"

"Yeah," Daryl answered, "But I'm telling ya brother-there ain't been no sign of nothin' there." He pulled the car up, waiting for Glenn and Maggie to open the main gate. He waved briefly to them, before pulling off and onto the main deserted road.

"I need to go there," Merle said, looking up from the map and glancing sharply across at his brother. "I need to see Woodbury."

Daryl shook his head. "There ain't no point, Merle."

"Maybe," Merle agreed. "But I ain't been an' gone seen it for myself. Not since..." he trailed off.

Carol glanced at him, and she saw the way that his shoulders slumped, and she couldn't help but feel her heart twist at the sight. Glancing out of the side window, she wished that he would just tell her what had gone on there, but he was too damned stubborn to say. It hardened her resolve. She would find out one way or another...from Scott if she had to. How could she help Merle if she didn't know what he'd gone through back there.

"A'right. We'll go," Daryl said reluctantly. "But ya need to know what he's done there."

"Reckon I got a fair idea," Merle answered tersely. He closed and awkwardly folded the map, tossing it onto the dashboard, and stared rigidly out of the windscreen.

…


	36. Chapter 36

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.**

_A/n: Originally I was going to split this chapter into two separate pieces, but on re-reading, I found that I didn't want to interrupt the flow of Merle's increasing agitation and aloofness-so I have left it as one slightly longer than normal chapter._

_Also, I am one very happy bunny as my signed and personalized photo of a certain Michael Rooker arrived in the post today. *fangirl swoon* :)_

* * *

...

It was worse than she feared, and Carol had to bite back down the tears that stung at her eyes as she stared at the ruins of what had once been the small, pretty community of Woodbury. The Governor had destroyed his own town, burnt it beyond all recognition. Ash and charred blackened husks of bodies littered the once pristine streets, and Carol felt a pang of sympathy surge through her for the few paltry former residents..._escapees_ that now resided back at the prison with their own group.

She found that she didn't really know what sickened her more. The needless destruction, the savage loss of life...or what he had done to Merle-nearly killing him, and maiming him in the process.

She felt a hand on her arm, and she glanced through tear misted eyes as Michonne stared back at her. The other woman tightened her grip, but the look in her deep brown eyes was one of sympathy and understanding, not of disdain and irritation.

"That man, the Governor? He's done a lot of things, Carol." Michonne sighed softly, "I understand why Daryl, even why Merle want to find him as much as they do. I want to find him. I want to make him pay for everything that he has done."

"I didn't realize, Michonne, not any of this. I didn't realize the extent of what he was capable of. Oh, I know what he did to Merle, and I _hate_ that man for that. But this? My God, this is something _else_," She wiped at her eyes with her fingers, sniffing back another quiet tear filled sob. She felt foolish for crying in front of the dark skinned woman, but Michonne didn't seem to mind-even if she herself felt that her tears made her seem naive and weak in front of the other woman.

"I don't think any of us truly realized that at the start," Michonne said quietly. "I had my suspicions though. Andrea wouldn't listen, of course. She couldn't see it. She was blinded by the whole ideal of Woodbury, blinded by _him_." She shrugged sadly, her thumb rubbing across the strap of her katana. "I've always thought that if something appears to good to be true-then usually it is."

Michonne eased her grip, and rubbed at Carol's arm softly. She offered her a small grim smile as she stepped back, and unsheathing her katana, she edged silently away and followed after Daryl up the ruined street.

Carol rubbed at her arms, before fumbling under her jacket to the sheathed knife at her waist. She saw Merle stood with Daryl, his hand swatting at his forehead, and Merle glanced across to where she was stood, his face an unreadable mask. He dropped his eyes from her gaze, said something to his brother, and strode across to the other side of the street, hardly breaking his stride as a walker emerged stumbling from a burnt out wreck of a house, his prosthetic arm coming out and dispatching it quickly. She watched as the body slithered to the ground, watched as Merle kicked at the corpse with his boot, before stepping over it and into the singed doorway, the heavy wooden door half hanging off its frame.

Sighing, she gripped the knife in her hand, before following after Merle.

The room...the house must have been something quite special once, and Carol wrinkled her nose at the sudden stench of damp, disuse and the pungent acrid bitterness of burnt out timbers. She mused to herself as she watched Merle move quietly in front of her-he hadn't noticed that she was there, or if he had, he wasn't paying her any attention. She tore her eyes from his khaki shirt covered back, to the rows of once polished pine clad walls. The corridor was a maze- twisting off at one point into a different direction, but she ignored it, stepping quietly after the older Dixon brother. He stopped, and she frowned as he looked briefly in her direction, his eyes narrowing, but then he turned away from her before she could say anything, and he was shunting his shoulder to a door, pushing and grunting softly under his breath. The door finally opened with a loud creak, and he stepped quickly through, leaving it gaping open.

Carol waited for a moment, doubt crowding her mind. They had already been here in the wreck of Woodbury for a few hours, and she had seen little of Merle in that time. He had been stoically investigating Woodbury mostly on his own-and it had been very obvious to them all that he hadn't wanted their company. Daryl had bit back at him after a long while, and Merle had briefly relented and allowed his brother to accompany him, although that didn't last long, and pretty soon Daryl had found himself standing in the street, watching his brother with concern, leaving Carol to wander the ruins with Michonne.

Carol sighed bitterly. She didn't know if Merle wanted her there...in fact she doubted that he did-the look on his face told her that he didn't, but she wasn't about to let that stop her, not this time. There was something here that he seemed badly to want to see-and if it meant that much to him, then she felt that she had to know for herself.

Taking a deep breath; partly in fear and curiosity, and partly because of the overwhelming scent off burnt wood, she followed after him-stopping in shock as she saw him kneeling to the ground in a small squared off room.

Merle was leaning over a corpse, something that had once been a man-something that had once been a walker. Half of the man's head had been caved in, his dirty plaid shirt thick with splatters of black congealed blood. She could see that the body had been stabbed multiple times, the wounds in the chest and stomach gaping putrididly open. A pair of spectacles lay not far from the figure; the lens of one glass cracked and splintered, the wire frame twisted.

"Did you know him?" she asked softly as she crept into the room, the sound of her voice harshly breaking the heavy silence.

"Yeah," Merle grunted after a moment. "I knew him."

He didn't look at her. Instead he got to his feet, searching the room, and Carol found it hard to take her eyes away from the solitary chair sitting in the center of the room. Manacles dangled from the arms of the once former dentists black leathered seat, slithers of matt duct tape hanging limply from the base.

It was then that she knew _exactly_ what this room was, and whom it had once held. And if she was not mistaken-the dead man on the floor was once formerly Milton Mamet, and the chair was the one that the Governor had shackled Andrea to. She felt bile form at the back of her throat, and she swallowed it down, wincing and thinking of what the blonde haired woman must have gone through to escape, and Carol found that she had to admire the bravery and single minded doggedness that Andrea must have possessed to escape this infernal hell hole.

"I...I'm sorry, Merle," she breathed.

He glanced at her quickly, not saying a word, his eyes dragging away from hers to continue his search of the room, and she wondered what he could possibly be looking for. He reached down and grabbed at a dirty rag, and she watched in surprise as he approached the prone figure, kneeling in front of it again, and placing the rag over its ruined head.

"I'm sorry for what ye went through, brother," Merle said softly. "I'll find the bastard. Don'tcha worry-I'll make him fuckin' pay."

The breath caught and ached in her throat as she watched him, and she felt her feet compel and drive herself forwards until she was stood close to him. He didn't say anything, only moving his head to her thigh, resting his head against her leg. She reached down and touched at his head, her fingers trailing and touching at the soft small curls of his hair. He closed his eyes and pressed his bowed head firmly to her thigh.

They stood that way for a moment, before he moved away. Her fingers clutched loosely at thin air, and she snagged her hand back, winding it about her arm, her knife dangling limply in her other hand.

He got to his feet, and he slowly raised his eyes from the body to her, and to her shock and dismay she saw tears smeared thickly in his smoky blue eyes. He stared at her fixedly, edging backwards and away from her.

"What ya think yer lookin' at, huh?" he snapped suddenly. "Quit following me and quit buggin' my fuckin' ass, will ya."

She blinked rapidly in surprise. "Merle? I don't know...I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"Get the hell away from me, Carol. You don't know jack fuckin' shit. Jus' get the fuck out'a here."

She stepped backwards at the sudden vehemence in his voice, the way he glared angrily at her. She bit at her lip painfully, feeling the sting of tears at her eyes, the bitter tang of copper filling her mouth.

He shook his head angrily, "Jus' go already, will ya? I ain't needin' you here, god fuckin' dammit! Ya dumb bitch," he hissed, and Carol turned and fled.

She ran through the burnt out pine clad corridors, the tears swimming and blurring her vision, and all of a sudden she was outside, gulping down lungfuls of cool icy air. She leaned her back to the red bricked wall, her hand shaking as she swatted at her eyes, trying to clear the tears.

She was unaware that Daryl was racing towards her, Michonne following quickly behind him.

"Carol?" he asked, "What's wrong?"

She glanced up at him, and saw the worry on his face, his blue eyes filled with concern. He stepped hesitantly nearer, his hand shooting out and grasping at her wrist, pulling her away from the wall and closer to him.

She shook her head, unable to look at him for the worry in his voice. "There's nothing wrong, Daryl," She tried to smile at him; to ease him, but the look on his face told her that he wasn't fooled for one second.

"Tell me," he urged. "What is it?"

She looked up sharply as Merle emerged from out of the door way, and she twisted her gaze away from him, swallowing against the lump in her throat. She brushed Daryl's arm away, trying to compose herself. She shrugged, pasting a bright smile on her face that she didn't feel, "There's nothing to tell," she said softly.

Merle grunted, "Let's get the fuck out'a here. You were right brother. There weren't nothin' in this fuckin' place."

Daryl watched as his brother slumped off into the direction of the SUV, and he looked quickly at Michonne, nodding his head. She took his unspoken word and followed after Merle.

"I ain't fooled none, Carol," Daryl said slowly. He sighed, "This got anythin' to do with _him_?"

She shook her head. "No. It's just...I didn't expect any of this. It was...a shock." She took a deep breath and stepped past him, pausing as Daryl's hand shot out and grabbed at her again. "Daryl, please," she urged.

He narrowed his eyes, glancing from her to the direction that Merle had taken. "Ya sure?"

She nodded her head. "Yes, I'm sure. Can we just go?"

"If he's been gone and done anythin'...I swear-"

"He hasn't done anything, Daryl. There's nothing to tell. Everything here...I don't know. I just stupidly didn't expect _any_ of this," she answered, her breath sitting tightly in her chest. She hoped that Daryl was convinced when she said that it wasn't anything to do with his brother-even if partly, that was a lie.

Daryl gazed at her for a long moment, before huffing quietly. "A'right," he sighed.

He moved off away from her, pausing to look at her over his shoulder, and she followed after him as they made their way to the SUV. Merle and Michonne were sat in their seats waiting, and Carol found that she didn't want to look at either of them as she opened the car door and climbed in.

As Daryl pressed the car into drive, and as they finally left the ruins of Woodbury, she closed her eyes to the sight of the ruined streets and buildings, and leaned her forehead to the cool glass of the window. She half listened as Michonne advised that they would be better off looking for a place to bunk down for the night, than continuing their futile search.

…

They found a small house, several yards off the roadside, a few miles from Woodbury, and as Daryl pulled the car into park, she finally opened her eyes. It was still mid afternoon, but she understood the need to take stock of the situation; to recoup their plans and find shelter for the night. Carol had an idea that the night could possibly be a long drawn out wait, and she felt a weary reluctance for it. She wished desperately that she had just gone with Tyreese and Scott. The way that Merle was responding to her now, surely would have been no different if she'd had gone with the others.

He had barely looked at her as they searched through the house, and he hadn't spoken to her, not even once. Feeling sad and tired of him and his couldn't give a damn attitude, she had slipped silently upstairs and found herself mercifully alone; her footfalls soft and hushed against the thick pile carpet as she paced from room to room. She let her guard down, thinking that there was nothing in this small house-it had seemed deserted and abandoned a long time ago, and she was oblivious to the lone walker as she pushed the bathroom door open.

The walker had been trapped in the bath tub, and she hadn't noticed it at first, it had been obscured by the brightly colored shower curtain draped around the old fashioned bath tub. She had been rifling through a cabinet over a pitted dusty mirror, looking for anything that could have been of any use, but all she'd found was a semi rolled up tube of congealed and oozing toothpaste, and a bottle of aspirin-well past it's expiration date. So focused she was that she didn't hear as it pushed its way out of the tub, the shower curtain wrapping around its fetid rotting body.

Carol glanced up quickly at the sound, watching in horror as the walker suddenly loomed towards her, the shower curtain snagging under its weight and draping itself loosely over the walking corpse like a weird bridal dress, before fluttering to the ground in a heap. She backed away, fumbling to reach the pistol at her waist, her eyes never leaving the walker, her hand skimming across the butt of the gun, her fingers just an inch from tugging it from her waist. The walkers hands clawed at her arms, the dead weight of its stumbling body slamming her forcibly against the wall, smacking her head painfully against the cabinet. She tried twisting her head desperately away from its snapping yellowed teeth as the walker thrust its head at her, its stinking hands clawing at her arms and shoulders through her thick jacket. The damp cloying feel of its rotting naked pulpy flesh pressed heavily against her, and she bit back a wave of nausea as her hand pressed to its ruined stomach, her fingers still fumbling at the polished wooden butt of the pistol.

Finally her fingers touched at the gun and she tugged it out as the walker pushed its heavy dead weight against her. She choked back a cry and grasped the pistol, her fingers damp with sweat, nearly slipping and dropping it, but she found the trigger and raised the gun and pressed, missing as the walker shunted her suddenly across the wall. The bullet hit the ground loudly, throwing up a small halo of wood splinters into the air, and then the pistol finally slipped out of her grasp as the walker shuddered against her, the gun tumbling out of her hand to land heavily on the ground. The walker had her pressed firmly to the wall, and sheer panic filled her as she felt herself pinned- its body tight on hers, its hands grasping and its teeth snapping, and she was unable to move-her hand trapped and unable to reach down and unsheathe the knife at her waist

Carol bit back the cry as the walkers hand pawed suddenly at her throat, and she felt its long ragged nails sink into her skin, bloodily breaking her flesh, its hand pawing greedily at her throat as it thrust its head close to hers, the scent of fresh spilled blood driving it into a renewed frenzy.

Boots thudded quickly and urgently up the stairs, as she wrestled with the walker, her hand finally coming up and pushing against its moldy body, her fingers sinking through its sickening soft and putrid flesh. Its teeth snapped and clacked close to her cheek, and she smelt the heavy pungent aroma of thick decay issue from its mouth. She futilely pushed at it, her fingers sinking further into its skin, and she saw with disgust that her hand was plunging into chunks of rotting flesh that trembled like jello.

A hand reached out, and the walker was propelled from her forcefully, and she lowered her head in defeat, even as a blade plunged into its head, the sound thick and squelching and popping.

She sank against the wall, tears streaming down her face, and then she whimpered in fear as a hand reached out and grasped her firmly, pulling her into a hard taut muscular embrace, arms wrapping tightly about her.

"Fuck..." a voice rasped huskily and warm close to her cheek.

She felt the adrenaline suddenly leave her and she sagged against him, pressing her face to his chest, wrapping her trembling arms around his waist and holding and pressing close to him like he was a lifeline and the only thing that mattered in this screwed up world.

"Shit...ya ain't hurt are ya, darlin'?"

"No," she said shakily through tears "I...I don't think so."

"Were you bit?" Merle asked fearfully. "Did it bite ya?"

"No...no, it didn't bite me," she mouthed against his chest, squeezing her eyes closed as she felt the tears stream relentlessly down her cheeks, wetting and dampening his shirt. Her heart yammered in her chest in fear. It had been so close. So damn close.

"What the fuckin' hell did ya think you were doing anyway?" Merle demanded abruptly, pushing her away, his hand traveling across her skin, pushing her head back to inspect the gouges that the walkers nails had inflicted to the side of her throat. "You could'a damn well been killed!"

She glanced up at him, blinking back the tears at the sound of outrage thick in his voice. "Like you give a damn, Merle," she spat, her own sudden anger rousing and dragging her from her stupor. "Remember? I'm nothing more than a dumb bitch."

Merle gaped at her as she pushed herself away from him, and stepping over the corpse delicately, she turned and made her way shakily down the stairs.

"Carol," Merle called after her, and she felt herself desperately wanting to turn and go to him-but the way he had been at Woodbury and his obvious anger and irritation with her now, stopped her from running back. She stiffened her shoulders, despite the stinging cuts at her throat, and trod resolutely back down the stairs.

Daryl was halfway up the staircase, his crossbow held rigidly in his hands. He looked at her in fear, his eyes traveling across her, and he lowered the crossbow quickly as he saw the twin tracks of red marring her skin. He grabbed at her elbow as she came closer to him, her feet thumping softly on the stairs.

"Are you okay?" he asked pulling her nearer, his hand not leaving her arm.

"It's nothing. Just a scratch," she said meekly.

They both glanced quickly back up the stairs to the direction of the bathroom, as a series of heavy muffled thuds and cursing, and then the sudden sound of glass being smashed reached them.

"What the hell?" Daryl asked sharply.

Merle appeared at the top of the landing, his face flushed, and Carol watched as he raised his hand to his mouth and sucked on his knuckles. He glared at them both, and she heard Daryl's quick hiss of breath as he watched his brother, before turning to her and pulling her gently down the stairs with him.

Daryl led her into the family room, Michonne jumping to her feet from the couch she was sat on, her brow puckering as she watched them.

"What happened?" Michonne asked.

"A walker," Carol laughed shakily. "In the bath tub-"

"Yeah, and it went and had a fuckin' go at ya, Carol," Daryl admonished. "Sit down." He gently pushed her to the couch that Michonne had vacated, propping his crossbow against a coffee table. "We need to get that looked at."

Michonne looked at Daryl and frowned, before shrugging. "We don't have any medicinal supplies with us Daryl. We have nothing." She went across to Carol, perching on the edge of the couch, her lithe fingers pulling back the collar of her jacket, her fingertips touching at the edges of the grazes.

"Shit," Daryl kicked at the coffee table.

"It's nothing, please don't fuss," Carol said, glancing away from the curt look that Daryl shot her.

"Like hell it ain't nothing," Daryl growled.

"It's only a scratch-"

Michonne looked at her sharply, her hand resting on her shoulder. She shook her head, "We need some sort of anti-septic, something to rinse out those cuts." She narrowed her eyes as Carol sighed. "Don't be stupid about this, Carol. The last thing you, or we need is an infection. We have no idea what a walkers scratch can do. I really hate to think what could possibly lurking in those nails. In this cut."

"Listen to the woman," Merle growled. He stepped into the room, and stood away from them, leaning his back to the wall. "Ya ain't needin' no goddamn infection."

Carol looked at him, her gaze dropping to his clenched hand. She still felt angry, but it was edged now with tiredness and regret. "You can damn well talk."

Merle narrowed his eyes at her, clenching his teeth. "This ain't 'bout me. If ya hadn't had been so damn fuckin'...willful-"

"The walker? That wasn't my fault. At least I didn't go and smash up my hand in a temper tantrum," she retorted quickly. Part of her knew that she shouldn't be arguing with him, and least of all saying _that_, but she was suddenly damned if she was going to put up with any more bullshit and attitude off him.

Merle huffed and bristled angrily, "Oh yeah sister, well...ya went and done one better, didn't you? What you did was fuckin' stupid."

Carol closed her eyes briefly, before snapping them open and staring at him. His eyes blazed and met hers defiantly. "Oh, so dumb, and now stupid? Really Merle."

"What ya _did_ was stupid, I weren't sayin' you were. Jesus Christ, get over yer fuckin' self, woman," he bit back hotly.

"Will ya both just shut the fuck up?" Daryl snapped, glaring at both of them.

Merle glanced at Daryl in surprise, "Whatever. I'm 'bout done anyway. I don't need this fuckin' crap." He scowled at Carol once more, before fumbling in his pocket for a cigarette. He lit it and stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

"Ya gonna tell me what the hell that was about?" Daryl asked her, frowning.

Carol glanced at the floor, looking at her dirty boots and shrugged. If she was honest with herself, she didn't know what anything was about any more. All she knew was that she hurt, and it wasn't just from the scratches that the walker had inflicted on her.

"We still need to do something about this," Michonne murmured at her side.

"I don't have much packed," Carol answered, "Just a few things in case of emergencies. Some painkillers, some bandages, a bottle of hand sanitizer-"

"That could work," Michonne said. "Well, it is better than nothing, I would guess."

Daryl went across and retrieved her backpack, handing it to her. "Women and their things," he grunted softly.

Carol smiled at him, and was relieved when Daryl tentatively smiled back, although his smile didn't quite reach those blue eyes that were partly obscured by his thick fringe. She rifled through the backpack, pulling out a small bottle of the sanitizer, watching as Michonne took it off her.

"This is going to sting, I'm sorry," Michonne apologized, smearing the cool liquid thickly on her fingers. She pressed her fingers to the scratches, and Carol couldn't help but wince. "I told you," Michonne said gently.

Daryl paced across the dirty carpet restlessly. "We need ta find some food. There ain't nothing here-this place already been cleared."

"It's getting late Daryl," Michonne answered, passing the sanitizer back to Carol, and getting to her feet. "I have a few packs of granola bars. They will have to do. Maybe tomorrow we can find something more?"

Daryl nodded, and Michonne went to her own backpack, and pulled the granola bars out, passing one to Carol, and tossing one to Daryl, who caught it with one hand. Michonne smirked at him, "Good reflexes there, Dixon." She placed one bar on the coffee table, looking at Carol thoughtfully, "For Merle," she said.

…

Carol didn't see Merle for the next few hours, and she had no idea where he had gone, or what he was doing. Daryl had gone in search of him, but that was over an hour or so ago. Now they were just waiting for them to come back. Michonne was laying on the floor on her bedroll, idly reading a paperback in the wan yellow light of a small camping lamp, which left Carol curled up on the couch with a blanket-and alone with her thoughts.

The walker in the bath tub had hardly been her fault-although...she reluctantly admitted, she should have been more aware of her surroundings. Letting down her guard and becoming focused on other things was inexcusable. Things like that _now_ meant a hair breadths difference between life or death, and she was now all too aware of that fact. She wouldn't let, or allow anything like that to happen again. But the simple fact of it was that she'd felt herself being miserably distracted by Merle and his seemingly abrupt and now casual attitude with her-and it hurt and smarted her a lot more than she felt comfortable with admitting to herself.

She sighed, shifting restlessly on the couch. She was tired and weary, but it felt like sleep was going to be a long way off. She told herself that it was because of the scare that she'd had-and while part of that was true, she knew that the other part was because she knew that she wouldn't settle until Merle and Daryl got back.

Michonne was fast asleep, the book she'd been reading carefully placed by her side, by the time the two brothers got back. Daryl looked so tired, that he immediately fell asleep the moment he laid on his own bedroll, several feet across the room, close to the main door.

She glanced across the dimly lit room to Merle, who sat there in the thick shadows, one arm banded around his knees, leaning against the far wall. He was silently watching her, and she felt her heart thud uncomfortably at his earnest gaze.

"Where did you go?" she asked him, when it seemed obvious that he wasn't going to say a word.

"Out," he answered tersely.

She raised her eyebrows at him, glancing from him to the coffee table. "Michonne left you a granola bar."

"Ain't wantin' it," he rasped, looking away from her, and studying his hand.

"You should get that looked at, Merle. Let me-"

He narrowed his eyes further at her, before shaking his head. "I ain't needing nothin' off ya."

"So, you're just going to sit there, for the rest of the night?" She asked, feeling the breath sitting heavily in her lungs.

"Looks like it, don't it?" he growled. "Unless ye gone blind as well as deaf."

Carol sighed sadly. She refused to be drawn into another spat...argument...whatever the hell it was with him. In fact, she would just leave him alone. It was becoming all too clear to her now, that the times that they had spent back at the prison meant precious little to him, and everything to her. She would keep those memories, treasure them for what they'd briefly been and then lock them away.

She crooked her arm under her head, tugging the blanket tighter to her, closing her eyes to the fresh sting of tears. She made a silent vow to herself that when they got back, she would just give him what he obviously wanted from her-nothing. Misery ached and gnawed at her, but she was damned now if she was going to give into it. After all she had been through...after Ed and his abusive sadistic ways, after Sophia and the barn, the many walker filled miles on the open road-she knew that deep down she was stronger than maybe a lot of them gave her credit for, herself included. And if she had to do things alone from now on-then maybe she would have to do just that. But even so-she couldn't help but sadly wonder if things with Merle were coming to an end before it had even really started.

Carol shivered in the cold, pulling the blanket tighter around her. She heard a long low sigh come from across the room, heard the shuffling of feet, and she glanced up quickly as Merle came across and sat next to her on the couch.

He looked at her for a long moment, then glanced away. "This? It-huh...it ain't meaning nothin'. Ya got me?"

Carol didn't understand, but nodded.

He unbuckled his prosthesis, placing it carefully on the table in front of them. "I jus' want to ask you one thing. Alright?" He asked quietly.

She sighed, "What do you want to know?"

He took a deep breath, and for a moment she thought he wasn't going to ask, but he turned to face her, his eyes bright on hers. He let the breath out in a slow exhale. "This morning...were ya gonna sneak out an' go with Scott and Tyreese?"

She looked at him unhappily, "I think you know the answer to that, Merle."

Merle glanced across the room. "Yeah, is what I thought. You need to drop this, Carol. I ain't gonna do this shit no more. If I don't want to tell ya, then I won't. An' if ya can't take that, then I damn well don't know anything anymore."

She shifted on the couch, edging closer to him, desperately not wanting this space to grow between them, but wondering if it already had. She couldn't promise him anything of the sort that he was asking. She leaned her head on his shoulder, pushing the blanket over the both of them, feeling him lean forwards and then wrap his arm around her shoulders, pulling her firmly to him.

He lightly kissed the top of her head before resting his chin there, and she pressed her cheek to his chest, her arm slipping around his waist, sniffling softly enough that she hoped he wouldn't hear.

...


	37. Chapter 37

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.**

_a/n: Last few days I've been at a complete loss on how to handle this particular chapter, and I had been stubbornly ignoring how and where a certain muse wanted the direction of this chapter to go, but in the end he kinda totally wore me down, so I gave the Merle muse free reign to channel whatever it was that he wanted. And this was the result. Although, I have (again) had to split this chapter into two pieces, as the word count was fast approaching 8k words. I guess he had a lot that he wanted to say, and do, lol._

_I am also slowly working up to the point where everything will change, although it is a slow process. I have plans where this is going, if only certain muses would behave._

_I will say this though...this, and the next chapter have been the most fun to write, and I personally have loved every minute of writing these chapters. They are both a lot more light-hearted than I ever intended to write originally, and it was one of those rare times where the words just flowed non-stop. Even so, all in all-this (and the next piece) took around ten solid hours of writing, and I didn't stop until 4:30am (thank God for days off from work!)_

_And as always, many thank yous to everyone who reviews and are still with me-I appreciate it more than you know._

* * *

...

Merle shrugged deeper into the thick jacket he wore, tugging at his collar with his fingers, while his eyes never left the increasingly grey murky sky. There was now a very discernible chilly bite in the air, and judging from the heavy dark clouds obscuring most of the sky, Merle knew that they were going to be in for a downpour, and while standing here in this open space, studying age old dust tracks in the heavy earth was all well and good-they desperately needed to find shelter before the proverbial shit hit.

They had been out in the open, still trying to find any track or futile sign of the Governors passing for the last five days, and Merle was amused to see the ever increasing frustration and impatience growing steadily with his younger brother. They'd found no sign of Blake, but Daryl had thought that they'd stumbled back on the tracks of a group-a small convoy, and he'd been consumed with thinking that it was the same camp he'd found with Michonne sometime ago. Probability seemed almost likely-the same type of heavy tracks, one large vehicle, possibly a RV, several smaller car tracks.

"Ya ain't finding anything there baby brother. C'mon," Merle sighed for what felt like the tenth time as he watched Daryl leaning on the ground, pawing at the hardened earth with one hand.

"They were here, Merle," Daryl grunted back.

"How can ya know that, huh? Those goddamn tracks could'a been any thing-and long gone from looks of it. We been chasing our tails out here, boy. There ain't no damn thing to see."

"Ya know ya ain't gotta be here with me. Ya can go and check them snares," Daryl grunted as he got to his feet. He watched with narrowed eyes as Merle reached into his pocket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. "Where the hell do ya keep finding them smokes, Merle?"

"I have my ways." Merle lit one and cocked his brow, blowing the smoke at him. He smirked as Daryl glared at him, and relenting; he offered a cigarette to his brother, tossing the lighter at him.

Daryl pulled his poncho tighter about himself, handing the lighter back to him in a puff of his own thin reedy blue-grey smoke. "Look's like it's gonna storm," he said glancing briefly at the skyline.

"Well, like that ain't stating the obvious, Darlina."

Daryl stared at him for a moment, twisting the butt of the smoke between his fingers, before raising it to his mouth and taking another drag. His eyes scrutinized Merle suspiciously. "Why ya lookin' so damned happy, anyways Merle? Ya ain't high or any shit like that?"

"High? Get the hell out'a here brother. I ain't high." Merle couldn't help but feel indignant at that. "Ya know I've been clean, ya asshole."

His brother took a deep pull on his smoke, before dropping it to the ground and crushing the embering butt with the toe of his boot. "I just know that look. Seen it before," Daryl glanced up at him, his blue eyes fixed on his brothers. "Means yer up to shit."

Merle laughed, "Up to shit? Ain't nothing to get up to, not out here in the ass crack of fuckin' nowhere, little brother. Jus' maybe I'm glad to be out of that damned prison." To be honest, Merle had felt his mood lighten with every damn mile that they'd driven away from Woodbury. That place had been filled with too many ghosts and memories-most that he didn't care to dwell on. Being out in the open, had helped ease the weariness in his bones and soul.

"I know what yer like, brother. And yeah? Ya looking like you're up to no good."

Merle flicked his cigarette across the ground, looking at Daryl and smirking again. "Well booyah, I'm having a fuckin' ball out here, Darlina. Ain't you?"

Daryl shrugged and sighed, glancing away from his brother, his eyes drawn to the two women walking close together, heading off towards the thick treeline. They were both wearing thick woolen ponchos that Michonne had fashioned out of some blankets that they'd found in a house a few days back. Merle naturally being Merle...had refused to wear one.

"Ya talking to her yet?" Daryl inclined his head towards the two women.

"Talking to who? Michonne? Ya know I am. Dumb question, little bro," he answered, following his brothers gaze. Damned if Carol still wasn't really speaking to him-she had been doing her level best to try and avoid him at every God given opportunity, and Merle was getting fed up with that shit. He was going to make her talk to him, even if it meant he had to nut up and act like a pussy with her.

"Hell I ain't talking about 'Chonne, and ya know it," Daryl glowered. "Quit the crap Merle."

Merle raised his eyebrows and shrugged, glancing at his brother. "Alright, keep yer pantyhose on, Daryl. I'm gonna make her talk to me. It ain't no problem."

"She's pissed with you, Merle...and I ain't blaming her for that-"

"I know. Jus' stop this already, Daryl? I know, and I'm gonna fix it. Even if it means I gotta suck up." He turned to face him, a grin suddenly tugging at his mouth, "An' believe me, brother-I intend to do all the sucking up I can."

"Christ Merle," Daryl grimaced.

"Hell yeah. I'm gonna hit her up with the ole Merle charm, and I'm tellin' ya brother? It's a done deal. She ain't gonna be able to resist me," Merle leered, dragging his gaze from the two women, to look at his brother humorously. It amused the hell out of him that Daryl's face was a little flushed with obvious embarrassment.

Daryl shook his head, "I ain't needing to know this brother...I ain't."

Merle shrugged again, "Whatever." Maybe Daryl would think him a pussy, and if he did? Merle was damned if he was going to be a pussy that was at least going to get some-hopefully. It had been too damned long, and by fuck he wanted her. The fact that she was trying to push him away, just made it all the more tantalizing. And frustrating, if he was totally honest with himself.

"C'mon Merle, them damn snares ain't gonna check themselves," Daryl grunted at his side.

He pulled at his jacket, glancing down at his arm. He'd had to cut the sleeve to be able to wear his prosthetic-it had been that or not wear the jacket. And after all those weeks of not being able to wear his prosthetic, he'd been damned if he was going to be without it for a single minute-especially out in the open.

Merle patted his brother on the back. "Lead the way, Darlina."

"Too damn happy, it wont last," Daryl muttered under his breath as he headed off towards where Carol and Michonne were, Merle trailing good-naturedly behind him.

…

The first spatters of ice chilled rain hit at them as they made their way to the treeline, and Merle narrowed his eyes as he saw Carol shiver against the cold, pulling her makeshift poncho tighter around her. They needed to make good time and find some sort of shelter-but the fact that they were in the middle of nowhere, and there wasn't a single house in sight for miles didn't bode well. As much as he didn't really feel the cold like the others, with the exception of Daryl...(and Merle mused to himself that it was simply because Dixon men always ran hot blooded)-he knew that it wasn't good for the women. With the early onset of winter, the last thing any of them needed was the all to real threat of hypothermia.

Daryl had checked the snares and had come back with three squirrels and a mangy ill begotten looking rabbit. Merle curled his lip at the sight. That wasn't really going to feed them, and they were now on their second day without food. Their sparse supplies had already run out, and all the abandoned houses that they had found, had already been picked clean. It made sense to Merle-whoever was in that group traveling had cleared out most of the buildings on their path, not wanting to venture any further off the main road, or into the woods. He had done and seen similar when he'd gone on forays with the Governor in what now seemed a lifetime ago.

He made his way across to Carol, watching her with concern. "Are ya alright?" he asked softly, frowning and stepping back a pace as she looked up quickly. The look on her face told him that she was still pissed with him.

"I'm fine," she said curtly, turning away from him and making her way towards Michonne.

Before he could stop himself, he had grabbed at her arm, snagging her wrist forcibly in his own tight grip. She glared at him, stepping back and trying to shake his hand off.

"You ain't," he sighed.

She looked at him levelly, her face now a composed mask, "I told you I'm fine, and I am." She glanced down at her wrist, "Let me go?"

He uncurled his fingers from her wrist, watching as she finally turned and walked away from him, and he raised his eyebrow at her receding back, watching her narrowly. He was getting really tired with this crap now, but he didn't quite know how to make it better.

Yes-he had been angry with her, and angry with himself for everything that he had ever done-and the time that they'd spent at Woodbury had filled him with an apathetic self loathing which he had been unable to fight or control. And then...then the stupid woman had nearly gotten herself killed by that damned biter in the bathroom of that house they'd spent the first night in, and that had shaken him to the core. He had been badly scared that she was hurt-that she had been bitten, and the horrid realization had hit him so hard that he didn't want to picture a world without her in it. And he had gotten angry all over again, not knowing what to do...what to say, how to cope and acknowledge the simple unyielding fact that she meant more to him than he had ever realized or thought possible.

If he was brutally honest with himself, the irony wasn't lost on him for one moment. Of all the bitches in the past that had ever wanted him, had wanted to be a part of his life, he had tossed them out into the street without a single damn care. He'd never loved or cared one jot for any damned one of them. He had never thought it possible that he could ever feel like that. Dixon men were cruel hard unfeeling assholes, they never gave a single shit about anything apart from themselves, and Merle had been an advocate of that. The only exception with him-had been his brother.

Growing up with their bullying abusive father had taught him the hard lessons in life, and his stupid weak alcoholic bitch of a mother had taught him others. To get on, you had to be hard headed and heartless, and women were nothing more than weak bitches that made _you_ weak if they got under your skin. And he'd never let anyone get that close. Not until her.

Merle clenched his teeth, his good mood ebbing away. He thought he had the start of a headache thump behind his eyes, and he swatted at his face irritably.

"-a few miles back."

"Yeah, I reckon is where we need to go 'Chonne. I ain't seeing none alternatives," Daryl answered.

Merle raised his head, half listening to their conversation. "Say what?" he asked.

"'Chonne saw a barn a few miles back up the road. Reckon it's the best place to stay overnight and shelter from this rain. Hell weren't ya listening, brother?"

"Huh, I'm hearing ya now," Merle grunted, watching as Carol stood close to his brother. Daryl muttered something to her, and she smiled wanly at him, before heading off to where the SUV was parked.

Daryl pushed the squirrels and rabbit at him. "Shove them in the trunk, will ya Merle?"

Merle watched as Daryl strode over to the car, tugging the drivers door open. "What yer last slave die of, little brother?" he called out, glowering as Daryl ignored him and climbed into the SUV.

Michonne gave him a small smile and climbed in beside his brother, and Merle huffed as he stowed the game into the back of the car, pausing as he saw Michonne sat in the front with his brother. He pulled the side door open, frowning as he sat next to Carol, irritably noticing how she pulled herself away from him and closer to her door, effectively putting yet more distance between them.

He slammed the door shut, glancing at her once more. When they reached the barn, he was going to sort the fuck out of this shit. It had gone on for way too long.

…

They had only gone a few miles, before Michonne had asked Daryl to stop the car, and now they were all stood outside, getting soaking wet in the icy chilled rain that fell heavily, watching and listening with ever mounting curiosity the strange high pitched keening sound that reached them from across the opened out plain. The ever present trees stretched on endlessly to their front.

Michonne looked at them with puzzlement, "What is that noise?"

"Ain't hearin' no damn thing," Merle bit out.

"Shh, listen," Michonne twisted her head, listening intently. She raised her hand, gloved palm facing them. "There it is...again. Can't you hear it?"

Carol frowned and nodded, "I can hear it too."

"Dunno what the hell that is. I'm gonna go look," Daryl glanced at them, shifting his crossbow to his hands and pacing off towards the direction of the noise.

Carol and Michonne followed after Daryl, and Merle reluctantly tagged along, his blood turning to ice in his veins as they got closer to the sound. The wind was catching it in the right direction, and Merle suddenly knew all at once what the sound was...and where the hell they were exactly. His mouth went dry.

"We need'a go. Ain't nothin' to see here," he called out suddenly, watching as Daryl paused to glance over his shoulder at him, his eyes squinting through the thick rain.

"C'mon Merle, ya need ta see this. This is some sort'a fucked up shit, man."

Merle grit his teeth as he moved closer, not really needing to look at what the others were staring at.

It was a large rectangular pit, dug deep down, and filled at the bottom with charred and blackened bodies that were seemingly fused together into one twisted matted hulk of once humanity. Merle knew it for what is was, and those bodies burnt beyond all recognition was one of the last acts that Milton had done-even though it had effectively sealed his fate and subsequent death.

Merle sighed quietly. "It's a biter pit," he said, gazing down at the fused motionless biters, ignoring the sharp glances of the others.

"You know about this?" Carol asked breathlessly to his side. "You knew about this, and you didn't say anything?"

He ignored her for the moment, "See that there? The machine? It's solar powered, one of the first guys at Woodbury, I forget his name-he was an engineer or summat and well, he designed that. It's purpose to lure 'em biters to this pit."

"And those walkers, are from this same pit-the ones that the Governor brought to the prison and dumped on our doorstep?" Michonne asked slowly.

Merle nodded curtly. "Yeah." He noticed that they were all staring at him aghast, even his own brother, and he found that he couldn't take it. "Don't ya go an' judge me over this shit, alright? It weren't my doing. I was there, yeah. But don't...jus' don't fuckin' judge me," he snapped.

He gave them all one last angry look, before turning and striding off back to the SUV, wanting to put as much distance to the pit as he could. He couldn't help but feel sick. It seemed every damn opportunity, Woodbury was determined to haunt him.

He slammed his way into the car, sitting stiffly and damply as the others followed after him and took their respective seats. He stared out of the passenger window, clenching his teeth angrily and leaning his prosthetic arm against the door.

As the car finally pulled off, he was surprised when he felt Carol reach her hand out across to him, taking his hand in hers and curling her fingers tightly around his.

...


	38. Chapter 38

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead**

_a/n: Hah yes...while this piece of the last chapter was sitting in a folder on my desktop, I couldn't help myself but look it over and re-edit and write more to it, elaborating this piece somewhat...and then I went right over my word count. Again. So this is another one that is being split up into two parts-I have only to run some final edits on the last piece of what will be the next chapter. _

_In the next chapter a somewhat angsty Merle has to face up to some of his demons with Carol. And yes, there is smut too._

* * *

...

Evening was fast approaching as they pulled up to the barn in the SUV, and Merle strained his eyes in the dimming light as he got out of the car, shirking the collar of his jacket more firmly around himself. The chilly rain fell heavily and thickly, soaking and flattening his hair, droplets running coolly down his temples and cheeks, dripping icily down the nape of his neck. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear the moisture as he stared at the barns padlocked and chained doors, wiping at his eyes and face with the back of his hand.

The barn was fair sized and loomed largely before them, casting dense shadows as he paced towards it. He stopped, pausing at the doors, hesitancy creeping over him at the sight of the thick chains holding the large wooden doors together. He cast a quick glance at Daryl, waiting as his brother came over.

"Ya think this is safe?" he questioned, reaching out his hand and jangling the chains lightly. He knew that their options were pretty limited now, and with night fast approaching, they had to find shelter, and this was the only viable option. No way in hell did he want to spend yet another night with them all cooped up together in the SUV.

Daryl looked at him, and it seemed to Merle that his brother was caught in a brief tidal moment, like he was almost remembering another barn not so long ago and what it had held inside. With an aching pang that he didn't quite wholly remember himself, (because he _hadn't_ been there, no fault of his own...or so he tried to tell himself...he had been much less of a man back then, and more of a free loving, free and high as a damn kite kinda fucking jackass), Merle briefly recalled a small strawberry blonde girl with an enchanting sunny smile, wearing a blue T-shirt with a rainbow heart. All naivety and coltish innocence, until it had been tragically taken and ripped away. His heart still bled at the thought of the young girls mother.

"I dunno Merle," Daryl grimaced. "One way to find out." He went back to the car, opening the trunk and pulling out a crowbar. "Just be ready, brother," Daryl said, looking up quickly as the two women climbed out of the car. "Michonne, Carol. We ain't knowing what's in here," he warned.

Michonne nodded in understanding as she unsheathed her katana. She looked at Carol steadily as the other woman pulled out a blade from underneath her layers of clothing. Carol looked back at her with grim determination. "We're ready."

Merle stepped back a few paces, allowing his brother space to wrench the padlock and chains off the door. It took a few attempts, and Daryl was cussing under his breath, but eventually the chains fell to the floor in a loud jangling heap, the sound breaking the steady silence, the only other sound the whispering spatter of the rain as it fell.

Holding his crossbow, Daryl tentatively kicked at the door, waiting. When he heard nothing, he gestured for Merle to slowly pull the door open, sliding to the other side of his brother, squinting his eyes as he brought the crossbow up, focusing.

"Ain't nothing there," Merle said quietly, leaning in at the doorway, shining the flash-light in his hand into the dark interior.

Carol stepped over to Daryl, offering him another flash-light, her own held tightly in one hand, and with a quick look at one another, they slowly edged into the dark confines of the barn, Daryl gripping his crossbow firmly, his flash-light now clenched between his teeth.

Michonne stepped in after them, her blade in her hand, poised and ready for anything that might come out at them in the increasing darkness.

Merle heard Carol's quick sigh of relief next to him as they investigated the barn-it was pretty much bare, just a few splintered partition half stalls, a few bales of moldering straw, and an odd assortment of long forgotten and rusted agricultural implements and tools lining one far wall. There were no biters; no signs that the interior of the barn had been touched in a long time. A thin pathetic light filtered through the opened barn doors, barely lighting a quarter of the barns murky interior.

"See? It's going to be alright, sweetheart," Merle said quietly to Carol as they walked slowly back towards the entrance. He huffed as he watched as she made to follow after Michonne back towards the car.

Carol looked over her shoulder and frowned at him in the thin light. "What's going to be alright?"

He made his way over to her, wishing to hell that she would just quit walking away from him. Surely she could see that he wanted to say something... that he wanted to talk to her. Her casual aloofness was starting to bug the shit out of him.

He stood in front, looming over her and blocking her way to the car, and he narrowed his eyes as he heard her sigh under her breath. "This. Things. Ya know?" he said impatiently.

Carol looked at him for a moment then shrugged, "No, Merle. I don't know."

Merle was aware that Daryl was watching them intently, and he glanced quickly away from his brother, to look back at Carol. Her hair was damp from the rain, and he could see the small curls already trying to poke up on her head, like an angry little halo. He leaned closer to her, and brought his hand out to touch at her hair, watching as she stiffened in surprise at his touch. She raised her eyes to his, cool chips of icy blue that should have frozen the blood in his veins as she stared back at him just as narrowly, but he ignored her frosty demeanor- instead, he ran his fingers softly from her hair to her cheek, then down along her jaw, cupping her chin and bringing her head up to meet his.

She was so close that he wouldn't have to lean down too much to crush her lips under his, and Merle swallowed thickly at the thought, all sense and reasoning starting to quickly evaporate. Her hand was resting on his arm, and he was half expecting that she was just going to push him away, but she didn't. They both stood staring at each other for several long seconds, before the sound of Michonne slamming a car door woke them from their joint stupor.

Carol broke his gaze, and looked away, "What was it that you wanted, Merle?" she asked, shakily.

He blinked rapidly, frowning. "I...huh...I was jus' gonna say that if yer cold later, mouse- you can always come an' sneak under my blanket," he paused, slowly smirking as she glanced quickly back at him, her cheeks starting to glow. "I'll help warm you up."

She raised her eyebrow at him, "I will bear that in mind-if I get cold enough." Her hand dropped from his arm, and she moved away from him, Merle standing aside to let her go, and he was so busy watching her that he didn't notice his brother come along and stand near, only realizing when Daryl poked him in the ribs, hard.

"What the hell's that for?" Merle grunted.

Daryl shook his head, "You, ya dumbass. It's gonna take more than that to stop her bein' pissed with yer ass."

"I know." Merle replied, "I was jus' being helpful an' charitable. Said I'd help get her warm."

"Hell Merle, I heard what ye said," Daryl grimaced.

"Whatever, little brother." He watched Carol as she helped Michonne gather their belongings from out of the trunk of the SUV. He wondered how long it would take for him to knock down the stupid barrier she had erected between them, and it annoyed him that she'd felt the need to do so. He hadn't meant shit when he'd gone on at her-in fact it had meant the opposite. She was starting to make him feel miserable, and it was a feeling that he damn well wasn't used to. Women had _never_ made him feel like this...yet he was finding himself being all consumed with the want and desperate need to put things back together-no matter how alien it was to him.

Damned stupid fucking woman. She would have been far better off without him. Merle knew he wasn't good for anything, hell-he had been gone and told her that same damned thing countless times, but she hadn't bothered to listen. She would have been better off without him...and better off with Daryl. His baby brother had always been the better one, the sweeter, the kinder and the more gentler brother. The type of man that she truly deserved.

Merle had always known that he was the wrong brother for her. Everything about himself was just all so very fucking wrong.

…

"Ya reckon we need to light a fire or summat, Darlina?" Merle asked. "I need to dry my clothes. My jacket is damn well soaked through," he grumbled.

Daryl shone the flashlight upwards, noting the high vaulted roofing, the thick beams high up. He nodded quickly, "Yeah, think it will be fine, brother. S'long as we keep a watch on it-we don't need ta burn the barn down round our ears while we rest up."

"I saw some large rocks outside while we were getting our gear. We could make a ring of them, help to contain the fire?" Michonne suggested.

Merle shrugged, "I'm on it brother." He moved across the barn, shoving the door open and noting with disdain the heavy curtain of icy rain. "Ain't like I'm 'bout to get any fuckin' wetter."

"Wait up bro, I'll come give ya a hand," Daryl replied, pausing cautiously and watching him warily.

"Yeah, an' like that joke ain't getting any older," Merle grunted. "C'mon, what the hell ye waiting for, ya lil pansy."

"Fuck off, Merle," Daryl retorted, smirking a little as he stepped into the rain with his brother.

It took them an hour or so to find and then lug the heavy stones into the barn, then make a ring large enough to contain a fair sized fire. Carol had been hoisting down battered splintered panels of wood, and Michonne was breaking them up into kindling, shoving large sized pieces to one side for later use.

...

Merle watched as Daryl pulled of his sodden poncho, the rain water running rivulets down his leather jacket and vest. His own jacket was soaked through, and irritably he'd had to wrestle with sodden stiff leather strappings to unbuckle his prosthetic, waving away any offer of help with annoyance. Finally he tugged the limb off, placing it carefully on the ground next to his feet, before trying to shirk and tug the sodden garment off. The material was so wet that it clung to him like a second skin, and Merle could feel his temper rising and starting to snap, before Carol came over and tentatively touched at his arm.

He narrowed his eyes at her, angrily trying to tug the arm of his jacket from off his stumped arm.

"Merle?" she asked softly, placing her hand on his, quelling his movements. "Please," she sighed. "Don't be so damned stubborn. Let me help you."

"I ain't needing no fuckin' help," he snapped bitterly.

"You're not asking, Merle," she smiled a little at him, and Merle found to his discomfort that he couldn't help but relent at the soft look that she gave him. "But I'm offering. I want to help."

"Alright," he said tersely, sighing. He glanced across the barn, quickly checking to see if his brother or Michonne could see her helping him, and he felt relieved when he saw that they had their backs to him and were otherwise preoccupied; Daryl hanging his poncho over a badly leaning partition wall, Michonne sorting through handfuls of straw.

"I ain't no fuckin' cripple," he rasped quietly to Carol. "Ya know I damn well don't need anyone to help me."

She shook her head at him as she tugged one sleeve away, stepping behind him to tug at the other sleeve before dragging the jacket from off him. "I know you aren't Merle. I've never said that you were."

Merle looked at her thoughtfully. She was right of course, she had never once viewed him in that way. She had never treated him any differently to how she had treated anyone else. "I know," he replied softly. "Was jus' checkin' ya, is all."

Carol rolled her eyes at him, holding his sodden jacket against her chest. "I'll place this with Daryl's to dry. If that's alright with you?"

He nodded again, watching as she moved away. She confused him to hell and back. It always felt like just when he thought that he'd had her all figured out, she would go and do some shit he didn't completely understand.

It didn't take long to get the fire lit and started, and Daryl was busy skinning and gutting the squirrels and skewering them on pieces of doweling that Carol had found at the back of the barn. The squirrels were then placed on a makeshift frame set above the fire, to roast. Daryl swatted his arm at his brow, his hands inky with blood as he started to work on the rabbit.

"I found some straw that wasn't completely icky and smelly," Michonne said as she took her place next to the fire, sitting with her arms crossed over her knees, holding her hands out to the low flames of the fire. "Thought would be good enough to use as bedding, at least as some sort of a mattress. God only knows after the last few days that we could all use a bit of comfort."

Merle shifted on his spot at the fire, half noticing that Carol looked at him quickly with concern. His shoulder felt sore, and he wondered if he'd over done it-shifting those rocks hadn't helped much at all. He only felt thankful that Hershel wasn't sat there with them-the old man's eye sight was razor sharp, and he would have noticed the discomfort Merle was experiencing, and more than likely-he would have been there berating his miserable ass for over exerting himself.

"You okay, brother?" Daryl asked, looking at him, his brow furrowing under his thick fringe of hair.

"Fine. Jus' my shoulder's aching a bit. It ain't nothin'," Merle grunted.

"You need a massage," Michonne declared. "To help with the stiffness of your muscles."

"Maybe," Merle agreed reluctantly, glancing at Carol, and half wondering if she would be tempted to help him with this. And if she offered? Merle certainly wasn't about to go and refuse her.

Michonne made to move to her feet, linking her fingers together and cracking her knuckles. "I can give you a massage, if you want. I'm fairly good, or so I've been told in the past," she smiled.

Merle sat back in his seat, his eyes widening. "Huh... now don't ya go an' be takin' this the wrong way Michonne- but yer built like a goddamned Amazonian warrior, and I happen to like my body in one piece. I ain't wantin' my arms ripped off. I'd much prefer a softer approach."

"A'right Merle," Daryl tiredly stood up, wiping the blood off his hands onto the thigh of his pants.

Merle looked at his brother in alarm, "Shit Daryl, I ain't meaning you either, ya dumbass. Sit the hell back down."

Carol got to her feet, and patted Daryl on the shoulder. "I think, he is meaning me." She looked across at Merle and almost smiled at him.

"Ya got that right, darlin'. Come here an' sort me out," Merle leered. He found he couldn't help himself, and he was instantly rewarded with her cheeks suddenly reddening. "Jus' go gentle with me."

Carol padded over to him, standing just behind and placing her hands on his shoulders, her fingers softly digging in to his skin through his damp shirt. "That feels so damn good," Merle almost purred.

She laughed a little, "I haven't really done anything yet."

"Well, what yer waiting for, woman. C'mon...sort me out."

She paused before she started kneading at his skin, and he closed his eyes to the feeling of her so close behind him, her fingers digging and touching at his skin. Michonne was damn right. He found that he really did need this massage. Carol's hand traveled across his shoulder, touching then softly pushing and pulling at the sore muscles of his previously wounded shoulder. He bit back a yelp as she dug her fingers in, kneading him.

"God Merle, you really are stiff and knotted," Carol frowned behind him.

Merle smirked, "Hell yeah, ya better believe it. An' when ya finished there darlin'...I got summat else stiff and knotted that needs massaging-"

"Shit!" Daryl yelped out suddenly, and Merle opened his eyes, gazing at his brother narrowly. Daryl was sat on his haunches, sucking at his fingers as he propped back one of the skewered squirrels. He glanced at Merle and shook his head, muttering 'dumbass' under his breath.

"Ya got a problem there, Daryl?"

"Pffft. No I ain't Merle. But shit brother, will ya keep yer voice down, huh?"

Merle glowered at him, watching with amusement as Daryl averted his eyes from both him and Carol. She dug her fingers into him a little too harshly, and Merle glanced over his shoulder, "What the hell was that for, mouse? I told ya to be gentle with me."

"I heard you the first time, Merle. Now will you stop fidgeting?" she answered.

He sighed as she resumed her work on his muscles, trying to allow himself to relax under her ministrations. Her fingers were doing a wonderful job on him, and he slumped against her as she continued kneading his skin and muscles.

"There. All done," she said finally after a few moments, patting his shoulder, and Merle was disappointed when she moved away from him.

"Yer finished?" he asked sharply.

"Mhm," she said, as she sat next to him near to the fire, careful to keep a small amount of distance between them.

Merle couldn't help but feel a little sour about that-but at least she was actually sitting next to him, and not looking at him from across the other side of the barn. He wondered if some progress had been made. He hadn't forgotten what he had said to Daryl earlier. The Merle charm just needed more time and more opportunities to present itself.

"Squirrels done," Daryl said after a moment, "But shit...there ain't enough. Not even with the rabbit."

"I don't mind, I'm not all that hungry," Carol replied.

Merle glanced at her, "I don't give a damn. Yer eating, woman. Daryl, give her mine. Or I'll share. What fuckin' ever."

Daryl leaned across and handed him one of the skewered squirrels. Merle looked at Carol and offered it to her, frowning and thrusting it at her until she reluctantly accepted. She pulled tiny little bits of it and chewed.

"Well. Ain't this nice," Merle said quietly.

Carol looked at him and frowned, as she handed him back the squirrel. "What is nice?"

"Me," Merle smirked. "Look -I'm sharing my squirrel with ya."

Merle glanced up at the sound of sudden coughing, watching narrowly as Michonne raised a hand delicately to her mouth. He glared at her for a few seconds, before twisting his gaze from her to look back at Carol.

"I would hardly call this nice," Carol answered shortly.

"Oh c'mon, give me a break sweetheart. It ain't like I share my squirrel with jus' anyone."

"I should be flattered?" Carol asked, her mouth slightly pulling up at one side.

"Damn right ye should," Merle grinned.

Daryl rolled his eyes at his brother, as he handed Carol some chunks of skewered rabbit. She smiled back at him and mouthed a quiet 'thank you'. She took a few paltry pieces for herself, before handing the rest to Merle. They ate in silence, washing the meat down with the few precious bottles of water that they had left stored in safekeeping in the back of the SUV.

Michonne yawned suddenly, then glanced at them apologetically. "I'm going to hit the proverbial hay, if you all don't mind?" she questioned.

"Nah, go ahead," Daryl replied. "I'm gonna stay a while, keep watch. Merle, Carol? Go and get some rest."

"I'll stay with you Daryl, I'm not that tired really," Carol said, watching as Michonne got to her feet and made her way some distance away from the fire, where she'd made some piles of straw into rudimentary mattresses, their bedrolls laid on top some distance apart.

Merle grumbled to himself as he watched Carol grab at her blanket, hoisting it over her shoulders and wrapping it around herself. "Ain't tired either," he said stubbornly.

They sat in silence staring at the flames of the fire, watching it crackle and snap as Daryl laid a few more small planks of wood into the depths of the fire. A comfortable silence and peaceful solitude reached over them, broken when Carol suddenly rose to her feet, "I'll go and get some more fire-wood," she said softly.

Merle watched as she padded off into the darkness, and he glanced quickly to his brother, before getting to his feet. "I huh...I'm gonna go an' help Carol get some wood," he said, smirking to himself.

...


	39. Chapter 39

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.**

_a/n: __This is a longer than average chapter-my apologies for that. There was just no way to break this one up into smaller pieces._

_(Posted this-and I totally forgot to put a warning on this chapter, and while I was doing that, I also found and caught up on a few minor edits that I've tweaked, so everything is done and sorted now). _

_So hmm yeah- warning for smut, and angst. _

_As always, a big thank you to everyone still with me. It means so much._

* * *

…

Merle knew that there were no biters in the barn, but even so, Carol had annoyed him once again by being so damn willful and striding off into the dark on her own. It was like she hadn't learnt any damned thing from her run in with that biter at the house. Merle...for more than one or two reasons of his own, had followed after her. Part of it was the fact that he hadn't wanted to let her from out of his sight, and he knew it was because he was worried that something that happen to her, and if he wasn't there? He quickly shoved that thought to the back of his mind-it didn't pay to dwell on shit like that.

Carol turned and looked at him in surprise, "I'm quite capable of doing this alone, Merle. Thank you," she said abruptly.

Merle sighed, "Oh c'mon mouse, let's not do this, huh?"

"Do what?" she answered, turning away and picking at a few pieces of splintered wood laying on the straw filled ground.

"This," Merle grunted, suddenly feeling awkward. Now that he finally had her alone from the others-everything that he had been wanting to say-to tell her, dried harshly and choked in the back of his throat.

He watched her for a moment, before he dragged his eyes away to gaze around the barn. The faint light of the fire drifted thinly across to them, causing thick shadows to shift and bounce off the darkened wood paneled walls. A large bale of straw lay in the corner-it's bindings rotten and peeling away; the straw spewing out and drifting across the dirt floor. Merle paced over to it, sniffing briefly, and wondering if there was any vermin hiding in the thick coarse straw, and half wondering if there was-would he be quick enough to catch and kill it. Half a pathetic squirrel and a few pieces of mangy rabbit was not enough to fill anyone's stomach, and he worried that Carol wasn't eating enough. Damned woman was starting to look too scrawny.

He kicked at the bale with his boot, listening for any sounds of life, turning and raising his eyebrow as Carol watched him- a small degree of amusement lining her face.

"Why did you follow me, Merle?" she sighed after a moment.

"It's a free country, last time I heard," he grunted. "Maybe I jus' wanted to talk to ya."

She pursed her lips tightly, glancing away and staring at the small pieces of wood in her hands. "There's nothing to talk about. I told you, I'm capable of getting a few pieces of damn firewood. I certainly don't need you here Merle, you should just go."

Merle curled his lip, pacing quickly over to her, and before she knew what was happening, he had grasped the collar of her shirt, pulling and tugging it down. He stared angrily at the two thin lines of scabs running down the side of her throat, trailing his fingertips roughly down them. "Yeah," he growled. "Ya don't need me, sure. Like ya didn't fuckin' need me then. I saved yer goddamn ass, you stupid ungrateful woman."

She pulled away from him, clasping the small pieces of firewood tightly to her chest and angrily tugging her collar back up around her neck. "That _wasn't_ my fault. For God's sake Merle, are you really going to throw that at me any damn chance you get?"

"I ain't throwing nothin' at ya darlin'. Don't you get it?" he rasped wearily. She was starting to piss him off-couldn't she see that he was worried for her? "You could have been killed," he grated out impatiently.

Carol looked at him, and Merle found that he was unable to read her expression in the dim light. He stepped a little closer to her, his hand reaching out. He wanted to pull her to him, to hold her and let her know just how badly scared he had been for her, but he let his hand fall short-snagging it back and rubbing at the thin beard covering his chin instead. He couldn't tell her and let her know. It wasn't in his nature. Maybe before, back at the prison he might have done so, but it seemed that things had changed between them now, and the uncertainty that he'd felt with her before crowded his mind. He found that he couldn't bear it if she pushed him away again.

Even so, he stubbornly wasn't ready to give up. He would try again, and try to desperately swallow the bitter feeling rising in his throat. He took a deep breath, "We need to talk."

She looked up quickly in surprise, frowning. "I don't think there's anything left to say, Merle. You made that abundantly clear when we were back at Woodbury."

"Ya don't know any damn thing, Carol," he hissed quickly.

She stared at him, before twisting her eyes away and glancing in the direction of Daryl and the fire. The sounds of popping burning firewood reached them through the silence. "I think it's best if I go, Daryl needs-"

Merle felt pissed if he was going to let her run from him yet again. "Will ya jus' fuckin' leave that?" he barked, watching as she made to move past him with the few paltry pieces of wood clasped to her chest. "Daryl can damn well wait, but this...this can't wait no more."

He stared at her, waiting to see if she would just go, but she stood there hesitantly, waiting. He took a few paces from her, before lowering himself down to the ground, sitting in the thick musty smelling straw. He drew his legs up and rested his arms across the tops of his knees.

"Carol," he said, gesturing for her to sit next to him, and grunting irritably when she refused. He sighed again, seeing that she wasn't going to make this easy on him, and he found that a small part of him didn't really blame her for that. "I've been an' done alot of shitty things that I ain't proud of, before an' after," he said quietly, staring at the ground between his dirty mud grimed boots.

Carol watched him, before placing the pieces of wood to the ground and reluctantly sitting next to him, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. She raised her head and glanced up at him curiously. "What is it?" she asked.

Merle looked at her and saw the questions shining in her eyes. He knew then, that this moment between them-right now, could possibly define anything that was left between them...and that she wanted answers, and that she needed to know them- no matter how much he didn't want to acknowledge them. With a sinking feeling, he knew that all of this stemmed from Woodbury and from what Scott had threatened to tell her. But she deserved to know something, no matter how small. He tried to fight down the sudden bout of rising panic gripping him. He knew all to well that he could finally lose her for good if she knew half of what he'd done-and he didn't want that to happen.

He frowned and glanced away, his eyes fixed rigidly and unseeingly on the far wall, before answering slowly. "The biter pit that ya saw earlier? What went on there, yeah. I had a part to play in that."

She shifted nervously in her spot on the ground next to him, waiting.

"No, I weren't there when the Governor first wanted it done...but, shit... I did play a part in what happened later. An' I ain't proud of it, Carol. I ain't proud of none of it," he said, shaking his head and looking at her warily.

"What happened Merle?" she asked a little breathlessly, her eyes slowly raising up to meet his. "What did he...what did the Governor want those pits for?"

Merle laughed, but there wasn't a glimmer of humor in his voice. "Originally? Ya want to know?"

She only nodded in response, her eyes wide and fixed on his.

"The Governor would have anyone that questioned his authority put to them pits when he first took over Woodbury, in the earlier days."

"What do you mean?" Carol asked half fearfully, but it seemed that she had already guessed what he begrudgingly wanted to tell her.

Merle huffed quietly, "Exactly what I'm tellin' ya. Anybody that he wanted rid of...anyone that he figured was a liability to him an' his leadership-he'd send them there. Feed 'em to the biters that he'd already trapped. It weren't pretty...an' shit Carol. Hell...there ain't no easy way to say this, but I took those people there. I helped send those that he didn't want round no more to those pits."

She didn't say anything, just kept on staring at him, and Merle squirmed uneasily in his seat at her gaze. He didn't want to tell her that there was a lot more to it than that. He didn't want to tell her about Blake's treasured little collection that he'd kept in those damned back lit fish tanks in his private quarters, and that he himself had gathered a few of those gruesome trophy's. He remembered it all to well, taking the few heads that Blake had deemed precious, tossing the decapitated bodies into the biter pits along with the living. That the head that the Governor had prized more dearly over any other had been the woman that was now laying on a bedroll fast asleep not so far from them and oblivious to what Blake had commanded Merle to do. Oh yeah, he had plenty that he didn't want to tell her, and plenty that he still felt sick and ashamed about. It haunted his dreams damned well enough.

"I've done worse. Alot worse than that. I've killed people," he grunted uncomfortably. "Innocent people that didn't know no better than to cross _him._" He risked a glance at her, seeing that she'd looked away from him, biting at her lip, and Merle feared that the more that he'd tell her...the more she would just push herself the hell away from him. He felt sick all over again. He couldn't escape his past...he couldn't escape any fucked up decision he'd ever made in his damned cowardly worthless life. It was all coming back to haunt him, and there was precious fucking little that he could do about any of it. He would lose her- like he'd lost every damn thing that had ever mattered to him. He would just have to accept it and move the hell on. It was part of who he was, part of the curse of being a Dixon.

Carol sighed, staring down at her hands. "Why?"

"Ya gotta understand, Carol. After Atlanta, after Rick fuckin' handcuffed me-I thought I had nothin' left no more. I'd lost everything. I thought Daryl had been an' gone left me for good. Blake, he found me... I was fucked up an' in a shit of a mess, an' he took me in, fixed me up. I was in hell of a bad way. I was coming off the drugs, I'd cut my own fuckin' hand off for Christ's sake. Blake...the Governor...he gave me a new life. A new start. I had to fit in...otherwise," he trailed off.

"Then you did what you had to do to survive...to live, Merle," she answered softly, still not looking at him.

"It ain't no damn fuckin' excuse," he replied angrily.

Carol raised her head and looked at him, the fire in the distance sending little sparks that lit and warmed the cool icy blue of her eyes. "You're not that man anymore."

"Ya can't be knowing that. I did what I had to do, what I was told to do, yeah. But I can't fuckin' promise that I wouldn't do the same shit all over again. An' what does that make me, huh?" he demanded. "I told ya before...an' I keep tellin' ya that I ain't no fuckin' good, an' I mean it, Carol. Ya jus' need to keep the hell away from me. I'm bad fuckin' news," he said bitterly.

She glanced back down at her hands, and Merle watched her warily. He knew damn well that she wouldn't look at him in the same light if she knew half of what he'd done. She was going to turn away from him, and Scott was right after all. He didn't deserve any fucking thing, least of all anything half as as good as her-he was nothing more than a cowardly shit that stupidly obeyed orders that he didn't have the guts or stomach to question. He clenched his teeth angrily, lowering his head to stare rigidly at the ground.

He blinked quickly in surprise as she suddenly leaned against him, her hands reaching out and softly clasping his cheeks. She gently turned his head up to face hers, the blues of her eyes fixed brightly on his. "Oh, Merle. You stupid man. You are wrong. So very wrong. This? All of this? It makes you a survivor."

Merle wanted to twist his head away from her, to turn away from her gaze but she held him firmly. He found that he couldn't answer her anymore.

"Is this about Scott? What you didn't want me to know about?"

Merle huffed. He didn't want to admit to anything else, but her eyes caught and compelled him. "A little... yeah. Yeah it is. So fuckin' what?" He shrugged. "I told ya Carol-I've done worse." He tried to appear nonchalant, like he didn't give a damn, but the truth of it was that he was scared. "So what now?" he asked, his breath catching in his throat.

She rubbed her thumbs across his cheeks, before leaning to him and pressing her mouth to his, her lips brushing lightly over his. She leaned back and smiled sadly at him, one hand resting on his shoulder, her other still cupping his cheek. "This? It's a start, Merle" she said quietly.

"I ain't no good, mouse," he warned.

"You keep saying that, but I know you're wrong. I've seen who you've become...who you can be. We've all had to do bad things-and I know some of us more than others, but this...this world doesn't allow for weakness anymore. I know, I've seen it for myself," she sighed. "I've seen you try to change, to try to make a difference, and I know it hasn't been easy for you. The point of it is-you haven't given in, Merle. Maybe most others would have done so by now-but not you."

"Maybe I ain't got much of a chance no more," he answered brusquely. "I ain't got nothin' left. I don't deserve any fuckin' thing."

"You have, and I don't believe that for one minute," she answered sincerely.

"Why the hell are ye doin' this Carol, huh? Are ya feelin' fuckin' sorry for me? 'cause I ain't wanting yer goddamned pity," he spat.

"Do you really think that I'm here with you out of pity?" she retorted, her brow puckering as she stared at him. "That I'm doing all of this out of pity? After what happened at Woodbury -I honestly thought that you didn't give a damn-"

"Yer fuckin' wrong if yer thinking that, Carol," Merle rasped quickly. "Yer so damn wrong."

"I didn't know then Merle, and you wasn't about to say anything to me either. In fact? You didn't speak to me at all. I thought that whatever...hell, I don't know. I guess I thought that whatever was going on between us was over." She looked at him unhappily, trying to fight back the tears that were forming in her eyes. "What do you want from me, Merle?"

He frowned, glancing away from her and staring at the thick shadows that stretched and reached across the far corners of the barn. His heart started to beat an irregular tattoo deep in his chest. Slowly and reluctantly he raised his eyes to hers. He had often thought in the past that he could possibly sink in those fathomless blue eyes of hers, and as he stared at her- he knew then that he was lost and that he was drowning, and there wasn't a single damn thing that he could do about it anymore.

The sudden realization hit him- there could be no more hiding, or skirting around the issue. Even if he couldn't say or express just how damn much he cared for her, he knew that he had to let her know somehow. He couldn't run or hide anymore. It was high time for him to nut the fuck up and say what was on his mind. He didn't want to lose her-he really didn't want that to happen. And as much as his brother cared for her, and Merle was under no illusion of that -his brother didn't love, or care for her in the way that he did.

Merle sighed bitterly, wondering why the hell she was even still sat here with him after what he had told her about Woodbury. He reached out his hand and touched at her cheek, his heart thumping pitifully in his chest.

"I've got a shit load of regrets for every damn stupid thing that I've ever done in my life. But you...you ain't never been one of them. You want to know what I want? I want you," he said fearfully, hating himself for finally showing and revealing his weakness to her.

She leaned against him suddenly, her mouth pressing urgently against his, and he wasn't quite sure what the fuck had just happened...but her hands were pressing against him and slipping under his shirt, her hands cool against the warm burn of his skin. He shuddered as her fingers trailed across his scars, and he broke away from her, his lips almost burning from her kiss. She met his gaze evenly, not questioning, just accepting and he pulled her closer, pressing her to him, letting her know just how much he ached for her touch, her contact. He caught her mouth again, pressing his lips firmly against hers, his tongue pushing at her lips. She kissed him back with an equal passion, her lips parting under his, and he couldn't stifle the small groan as her tongue slipped into his mouth.

He wondered for a moment, if they should be doing this-what with Daryl and Michonne the other side of the barn from them, but then he found that he didn't really want to think about any damn thing no more as he felt her fingers flutter at his waist.

He scooped her up in his arms, her hands slipping up his chest and clasping tightly around his neck, and he moved across the barn towards the thicker shadows, tumbling them both down into the thick heady smelling straw.

He kissed her jaw, her neck, her throat...his lips trailing hot wet kisses over her skin. His hand slipped under her shirt, roughly pushing irritably at the layers of under shirts, and he cocked an eye brow at her in question. The sheer amount of clothing that she wore felt like she was still trying to put a distance between them. But as he looked at her, she smiled almost shyly, and Merle felt his heart lurch at the soft look she gave him.

His hand inched and smoothed its way across her soft warm skin until he found the strap of her bra, and he smirked at her small gasp as he unfastened her with one swift motion, his fingers trailing roughly across her skin, brushing against the firming bud of her nipple. He leaned down to her, his hand pushing irritably at her garments, pushing and shoving them up, the flat of his tongue on her skin, slowly sliding up the flat plain of her stomach, to the small valley between her breasts. His hand caught out and caressed one nipple roughly, as his tongue licked and swirled over her other. She arched against his touch, her hand curling around his head, her fingers kneading through his hair and scratching at his scalp.

She pulled him up to her, her hands briefly cupping his face, drawing him to her and kissing him, her mouth opening under his again as he slipped his tongue in, and he felt her fingers drop from his cheeks and trail down his chest, before they fluttered over his waist as she started to tug at his belt, at the button of his pants. His erection strained painfully at the material of his pants, and he longed for her to free and take care of him.

He closed his eyes as her hand slipped into his boxers, her cool slim fingers grasping him firmly, and he growled as she softly and slowly rubbed the tip of one finger against the dampening slit of his dick. Her hand grasped him, sliding downwards along his length.

"Ya know yer gonna goddamn kill me one day," he hissed, as she gripped him more firmly, her hand moving slowly and tantalizingly up and down, the taut friction of her hand on him causing the blood to boil thickly in his veins.

She smiled against his mouth, as her hand slipped from him to cup and caress his balls. He groaned against her, wanting nothing more than to rip the clothing from off her, but he contented himself with fumbling at the button of her pants.

She shifted against him, then moved away, and he couldn't help but feel disappointed as her hand slipped away from him. He frowned up at her, laying on his back in the thick musty smelling straw, and then he smiled as she tugged off her pants and underwear. He tried to help her as much as he could, with his stupid awkward hand, but she just smiled and swatted him away. He found he didn't mind so much as he watched her shrug her clothing away. He had better uses for his hand anyway.

It was all he could do to stop himself from grabbing hold of her roughly and shoving his way over the top of her as she lay back down next to him. Her hands were shaking as she undid the few buttons of his shirt, and he groaned as her hands slipped underneath his dirty wife-beater, pushing against his chest, before smoothing their way across his nipples. He slithered his hand downwards, across the soft skin of her thighs, before dipping and cupping her, feeling her hot dampness against his palm. He slipped one finger in, feeling her slick hotness grip him, then he pushed another finger in, moving his hand against her.

"Merle," she gasped quietly, pressing her face to his shoulder and he increased the tempo of his fingers, his breath rasping and painstakingly short in his throat. He'd thought it before, and he thought it now...he doubted he'd ever known anyone quite so beautiful as her, and the fact that she would even let an ugly miserable asshole like himself anywhere near her, especially now...especially after what he had been and told her.

But the gasp of his name from her lips so close to his throat, vibrating softly against his skin, was suddenly sending him down a spiraling path. He nipped at her collar bone, his mouth trailing down her skin, sucking and biting at her, and as he felt her start to tighten and clasp about his fingers he knew that he wasn't about to let it go down like that...not fucking yet. He moved his hand away reluctantly and looking down at her, he brought his hand slowly back up to his mouth, sucking and licking at his fingers, tasting her on his skin.

"You taste so damn fuckin' fine, mouse," he growled, smirking at her sudden look of embarrassment-her face flushing a vivid shade of red.

He pushed himself away and she stared up at him wide eyed, before he fumbled at his pants, and he sighed irritably, his clothing starting to piss him off. He yearned to be close to her, to feel her soft skin warm against his. She leaned to him, her head pressing to his chest as she helped push his pants and boxers down past his thighs.

He propped himself up one elbow, scooping his stumped arm underneath her, pressing her close as he guided himself with his hand into her slick warmth. He grunted as he thrust into her and he faltered for a moment. Sweat beaded down his back, even as her hands slipped around underneath his vest, her fingers digging into him and holding him tight, and as much as his shoulder ached again, he was fucked if he'd let that stop him. He found his pace, thrusting fully into her, filling her, her soft groans warm and prickling on his skin.

He pressed his forehead to her shoulder as her finger nails raked and dug into his back, her legs shifting against him suddenly, her thighs clasping his sides and her heels digging into him as she pressed her hips to his and he thrust slowly and rigidly into her. His breath felt constricted in his chest, and he shifted his stumped arm, pulling her closer. He moved his head from her shoulder, pushing her vest top back up with his hand, slathering the flat of his tongue over her breasts and nipples.

His nostrils flared as his own movements got quicker, and he felt her all too delicious slick tight hold over his dick grow stronger and firmer and he knew that she wasn't far off. He looked down at her, her eyes wide and fixed on his as he raised his hand to his mouth and slowly licked at his fingers. He glanced away from her, his eyes dropping down and traveling across her skin, and he trailed his hand down between them, as he thrust into her, his fingers eager as they rubbed softly and damply against her. She gasped suddenly against his shoulder, her teeth nipping sharply into his skin.

"My God, Merle..." she cried against him.

"Shit," he grunted as she started to buck against him, and he knew that time was against them and he wouldn't last out much longer either. It was as if the damned woman had put a spell on him. He scooped her up more firmly, pounding into her like he had been damn well starved of this. Sweat trickled across his brow, and he closed his eyes to the feeling of her hot wetness throbbing and convulsing over him.

"I want you..so fuckin' much," he mouthed at her skin. He felt his own climax build until it ached and pounded painfully, his breath rasping, and he thrust repeatedly into her so hard that he thought his balls would burst from the pressure building inside of him like a damned pressure cooker ready to pop. He slammed into her several times before shuddering and releasing hotly inside her. His heartbeat thundered wildly in his chest as she moaned against his damp and fevered skin, and he raised his head to sloppily kiss her. His body sagged and trembled against hers and as he felt her shiver, he twisted onto his side, pulling her with him. She kissed him softly, before pressing her face to his throat, her hands traveling across his back, fingers splaying out and holding onto him tightly.

They held each other for a few minutes, before the dawning realization of their surroundings sunk in. They moved apart reluctantly, readjusting and pulling up their own clothing. Carol reached across and grabbed at the blanket she had worn around her shoulders, and she smiled at him. He lay down back in the thick straw, panting and pulling her with him, and she laid her head on his chest, tugging the blanket around them.

They lay for a while in silence, the only sound the throb of their heartbeats. Merle curled his arm around her shoulders, pulling her to his chest, and she twisted in his embrace, turning and laying on her stomach, leaning against him. She reached out and touched at his chin, her fingers traveling up to stroke his cheek.

"Do you have any regrets?" she questioned quietly.

For a moment he found that he couldn't answer her, then he smiled softly, his fingers trailing down her shirt clad back, wishing that they were naked and bare to each other. "No, I ain't got no regrets, darlin'. I don't ever regret nothin' with ya," he murmured. He couldn't believe that after everything that had been said, that she still wanted to be anywhere near him-that she still wanted to be _with_ him. He was only too damn fucking thankful that she did.

"What now?" she asked.

He shifted against her, frowning down at the top of her head, his fingers pausing their motion against her back. "What do ya mean?" he asked.

Carol sighed. "I mean, when we get back to the prison, with all of the others around. What is going to happen between us. Is this..." she paused, pressing her forehead to his chest briefly, before glancing back up at him, biting at her lip. "Is this...a thing?"

Merle chuckled, "If yer asking if the others can watch, then fuck no. They can go an' get the fuck out'a here, honey. I ain't the sharing type of guy. They want some? They can go an' get their own. I ain't sharing ya with no-one."

"That isn't quite what I meant, Merle," she chided him softly.

"I know that," he answered, pressing his arms around her, holding her to his chest. He wasn't a complete dumbass. He knew damn well what she was asking-and it terrified him. "Why the hell's it got to be a 'thing'? What the fuck is that anyway, huh?" he grumbled.

"Us, together. We're a thing," she laughed.

Merle narrowed his eyes sharply. "Why have ya gotta go an' call it summat? I like yer company, I like to fuck ya, an' I reckon you feel the same way, darlin'. Ain't no need to go an' call it shit, though."

She raised her head and frowned at him, and Merle sighed, "Look, if yer asking if I want anyone else, then the answer to that is no. I ain't wantin' none but you. But ya gotta understand a few things."

"Such as?" she mouthed against his chest.

"I ain't the type of man that maybe yer used to, mouse. I don't do none of that pussy assed shit. I ain't the type of guy that can hold yer hand in front of others... hell, we see enough of that with 'em damn lovebirds, Glenn an' his lil farmers girl. An' if that's what yer expecting out of this, from me? Then darlin', yer lookin' at the wrong guy. I can't do it."

"I know," she answered softly, laying her head to his chest, her hand curling around his shoulder. "Merle, I wouldn't expect any different. And...that's not what I'm about, either."

"Good," he replied. "'cause I ain't gonna lie to ya. I'm a difficult son of a bitch, an' I got a damned high miserable temper on me. I ain't gonna be easy to live with, alright?"

"You're not telling me anything that I don't know already. Merle...I know all of this," she answered, laughing a little at the indignant look he shot at her. "Are you trying to put me off?"

"No. I'm jus' trying to being honest with ya." Merle was surprised that for once he'd actually let his guard down just enough with her to be candid about stuff like this, no matter how much it made him feel uncomfortable. He felt mildly relieved that he'd finally gotten some of this shit out into the open with her.

Carol shifted against him, pushing his arm from around her, and sitting up. She stared down at him, a small smirk pulling at her lips. "So...I guess we're perfectly clear on where we stand then."

He frowned, laying back in the straw and watching her. "Huh?"

She got to her feet, lowering her hand to him, and watching as he grasped her fingers between his, before tugging him, somewhat awkwardly to his feet. She smiled impishly at him, curling her fingers between his, and stepping on tiptoes to press a chaste kiss to his jaw. "Come on, we should go back."

"Wait a second...what was ya saying?" Merle grunted.

Carol shook her head, watching him in amusement. "We got a 'thing'," she smirked.

"Aww fuck. Shut the hell up, woman," Merle grimaced. "Don't ya make me go an' regret sayin' shit like that, for Christ's sake."

He smirked as he watched her pick back up the pieces of firewood that he'd made her discard earlier. She looked at him, raising an eyebrow, before thrusting it at him, and he took it from her, grunting, but knowing now she wasn't totally fooled by his gruff attitude. Carol picked up a few more pieces, before turning away and pacing back towards the fire, Merle following close behind.

He glanced at her as she laid the pieces of firewood next to the ring of stones. His brother had retired to his bedroll, and the fire was now nothing but a few glowing embers. He sat down heavily, pulling his knees up, and reaching into his pocket, he pulled his packet of smokes out. Lighting one, he leaned away from the fire as he placed a few pieces of wood into its smoldering depths, watching as the flames slowly reignited.

He took a long deep drag on his cigarette, watching as Carol came across and sat next to him, pulling the blanket about her.

"Go an' get some rest," he grunted, seeing the darkened rings about her eyes. She totally ignored him, choosing to sit at the fire next to his feet, and he huffed irritably at her. "I told ya mouse, go an' get some damn sleep."

"I will when you do," she said softly, leaning her head against his knee.

Merle rolled his eyes at her stubbornness. He placed the smoke back to his mouth, savoring the taste and flood of nicotine as it hit his bloodstream. Glancing down at the woman next to him, he curled his stumped arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer to him- watching the slumbering forms of his brother and Michonne warily, thankful that they were fast asleep.

Carol smirked back at him, and they stared in silence at the flames of the fire, Merle dragging heavily on his smoke, before flicking the butt of his cigarette into the small flames. Sighing, he turned to her, pulling her up to him more firmly, resting his chin on her head. It wasn't until a few moments later that he was aware that she was leaning a little too heavily against his legs, and he looked down, poking at her with one finger.

"Mouse," he hissed.

She didn't make a sound, so he poked her a little harder, pulling his hand back and staring at the fire as she sat up abruptly.

"Oh, I must have fallen asleep," she yawned. "You should have woken me up, Merle."

"Didn't want to wake ya," he replied, smiling. "But ya really need to get some sleep-I'll sit here for a while an' keep watch."

She got to her feet, stooping down to press a kiss to his head. He caught her arm and stared at her, not really knowing what to say, and feeling awkward. She smiled at him, and he watched as she made her way to the bedrolls, laying down and tugging her blanket over herself.

Merle shoved a few more pieces of wood onto the fire, and sat back, banding his arms around his knees, staring at the orange licks of flame as they caressed over the wood. He wouldn't sleep tonight, his mind was buzzing too much.

He couldn't help but feel damn nervous about what shit the new day would bring. Everything had changed yet again, and he wondered if he would be able to cope with the new circumstances he found himself in. He would try to keep what was between them as private as he could, he didn't want any asshole poking their unwanted noses into his affairs. And if anyone did find out and laughed at him for being a pussy in this new 'thing' with her? He wouldn't think twice before pounding their miserable asses to the ground.

...


	40. Chapter 40

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.**

* * *

...

"_Mommy? Where are you? I'm lost. I'm scared Mommy, and they're here...they're coming-"_

Carol rose up quickly on her bedroll, blinking sluggishly and wiping at her eyes, smearing tears that she hadn't known she'd shed across her cheeks. Her breath caught tangled and aching in her throat and deep inside her chest.

It was the same dream. Always the same damn dream. _Sophia. __Hershel's farm. The barn._

She sat shaking in the still and heavy darkness, with one hand clutching at her thin bedding, her other clasping about her mouth, trying to muffle down the rasping sob that threatened to escape. For a moment she tried to find her bearings in the dark, not wholly remembering that she was in a different place and in a different time and it wasn't until she felt a presence at her side, a hand catching out and gently grasping her did she remember.

Merle didn't say a word- he just caught and pulled her to him and she leaned back against his chest, his one arm wrapping around her, taking comfort in his solid and unyielding presence. The hectic thump of her heart slowed to a more even rhythm, and she took a few quiet shaky breaths-willing that all to familiar panic she felt nearly every time on awakening to retreat to the further most corners of her mind.

His hand brushed at her hair, and as she roused herself from the last tendrils of slumber, she wondered why he was there, why he was so close. He had stayed up to take watch and the last she had remembered of him-he had been nothing more than a dark silhouette against the small fan of flames that had licked up from the circle of stones.

Carol closed her eyes to his touch, feeling surprised by just how much Merle's closeness and presence soothed and reassured her. She had felt that in the past to a degree with Daryl, but it had never been quite the same, and she knew that partly it was because Daryl had always held himself to blame for not finding Sophia, even though it wasn't his fault. Daryl had done more for her and her daughter than any of the others from the original group. It had never been his fault, no matter how much he had held himself accountable.

She unclenched her hand from her bedroll, smoothing her hand away. She again wondered how Merle had been there so quickly when she had awoken from her nightmare, and she then felt a faint smile tug at her mouth as she realized that sometime in the night he had brought his bedroll and laid it close to her own. He always acted so tough, like he never gave a damn -but the evidence that showed otherwise was there for her to see, and it spoke volumes to her.

She swallowed quickly, the tears drying on her cheeks and she pressed her hand to his arm, her fingers curling around and holding him there momentarily.

"You okay?" he murmured close to her ear.

She nodded, words failing her and emotion clogging up the words that she found she suddenly wanted to say to him. She let her fingers uncurl from his arm before gently pushing him away and pushing him back down on his bedroll, "I need to get out for a minute- I need some fresh air." She fought back another sad smile as he grumbled sleepily at her. "I'll be fine Merle, go back to sleep," she insisted.

She rose from her bed, taking her blanket and draping it over him, ignoring his drowsy protests as she got back to her feet.

She wanted and desperately needed sometime to herself before the morning came upon them and they would all be busy preparing themselves to move off and away from the barn. She felt an urge to see the sun rise, to see the new day in.

Tugging her damp jacket back on, she reached to the other side of her bedroll and took her knife, fastening it quickly to her waist. Casting a quick glance over her shoulder-more to reassure herself that she wasn't completely alone-and that Merle hadn't decided against lack of sleep and hot headed stubbornness to follow after her, she paced quietly across the dirt of the barn floor to the door, gently pushing it open and slipping outside, pushing the large door shut after her.

Carol felt a surge of relief as she saw the first rays of sun tentatively lighting up the chilly grey misty morning sky. She shrugged herself deeper into her jacket, grasping her knife firmly in her hand, feeling thankful that the iced filled rains from the day before had finally stopped. A few low guttural moans reached across to her and she sighed in impatience at the sound, knowing that there was never completely any escape or respite from them- the walkers were about the only constant now in an ever changing world.

She silently watched as a female walker turned its head into her direction, long matted leaf strewn hair swaying limply, its nose snuffling softly as it raised its head and caught her scent. Grimacing a little, and feeling that she had a point to make to herself-she approached it, watching for a moment as it ambled over to her. Its gait was slow and awkward, one leg slowly propelling it forwards, its ankle twisted and dragging behind on the hard ground.

Carol took a deep breath and paced over to it, thrusting her knife firmly through its forehead. She had to tug and wrench at the blade to free it, and as the blade finally popped out, she quickly stepped back a few paces as the body slumped heavily to the ground.

There were three more walkers-two in the line of trees several yards to her left, and one solitary walker ahead of her in the open expanse of dried and brittle grassland; although this walker was male and larger than the one she had just killed. She wondered for a moment if this one had once been a farm hand-its denim jeans were soiled and torn about its knees, plaid shirt flapping and ripped, thick brown workboots steadily and rhythmically clomping towards her.

She glanced away from it, squinting at the tree line. Her skin prickled and goose-bumped under her jacket-the fine hairs at the back of her neck rising. For a moment...she had the distinct impression that she was being watched-observed and she looked more intently at the row of pines, frowning at the low mist rising at the bases of the large trees. A quick dash of movement caught her eyes, and she involuntary found herself hastening towards to it, only stopping when she heard the quick sound of footsteps behind her.

She raised her knife, bringing it up ready to thrust, turning and stopping when she saw Merle stood there gaping at her wide eyed. Her blade was less than two inches from were his heart lay.

"For Christ's sake darlin', put yer pig sticker down!" he hissed, stepping backwards. "Shit, I thought ya was gonna damn well fuckin' skewer me."

She lowered her blade, dropping her hand to her side, laughing shakily, "Merle...oh God, I...I thought you were asleep."

Merle frowned at her, tapping the blade of his prosthetic arm against his leg. "Ye really think I was 'bout gonna let ya come out here on yer own, huh? What are you doing out here anyway, mouse?" he questioned.

"I told you, I needed some air," she said, glancing past him and watching the walker approaching them. "I didn't think there would be a problem."

He looked at her shrewdly, "If this is about before, you ain't got nothin' to prove. Not to me. Not now."

Carol dragged her eyes back and stared at him in surprise. For a moment she wondered if she appeared that transparent to him. "How did you know?" she asked curiously, watching as he smiled at her.

"I know ya, is all," he shrugged, obviously trying to not make a big deal out of it.

She stared at him for a while longer, shaking her head, and fighting back a smile as she saw how uncomfortable and nervous he was starting to look. His smile fell and dropped into a scowl, but she knew now it was nothing more than bluff bravado, and her heart lurched in her chest with the knowledge.

"Ain't 'bout to go an' let ya get your stupid dumb ass killed," he groused, turning from her and meeting the walker head on. He thrust his arm at it, dropping the body to the floor, raising his boot and kicking solidly at it. "Ya big pussy assed fucker," he berated the corpse loudly. He gave the body another swift kick, before turning and walking back over to her, his hand coming out and catching hold of her shoulder.

She looked up at him as he squeezed, and glanced back at the trees.

"What is it?" he asked.

Carol shook her head, "I thought I saw...it's probably nothing. Don't worry about it."

"What did ya think ya saw?" Merle followed her gaze, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the thick dense line of trees.

"I'm probably just imaging things," she laughed shallowly. "But...I felt for a moment...it felt like I was being watched."

Merle caught her hand in his, his fingers gripping hers tightly, and he pulled her along with him towards the trees. "If you're thinking that darlin'-there's gotta be a reason. I ain't doubting ya. C'mon, we'll see if there's anything out there."

There wasn't a sound other than their booted feet and the soft sounds of their breathing, their breath steaming out before them in a little smoky wisps. Carol glanced about the trees, feeling the heavy silence and chill seep into her bones.

Merle had let go of her and was now several feet away from where she was stood, leaning over and intently scanning the pine littered ground. After a moment, he pushed himself up to his feet, shaking his head.

They walked for a while, slowly and quietly, constantly watching and looking for any sign of anything. Their boots crunched softly through the frozen pine littered ground, the occasional swish of ice covered undergrowth snapping against their legs.

"There's nothing, Merle," she sighed, bringing her hand up to rub at her reddened chilled cheeks, trying to circulate some warmth back into her skin.

Merle glanced at her quickly, his eyes dragging away and staring through the treeline. He shook his head, a frown marring his face. "Yeah," he agreed, "I ain't seeing nothin'." He sighed after a few moments, "The ground's too frozen for any damn tracks. If some asshole was here, I doubt we'd see it now. An' there ain't been none other signs. C'mon, mouse."

He turned his back to her and strode off, and she followed after him as they trudged back to where they had started from, Merle watching as two walkers changed direction and came towards them. "Look at 'em dumb fucks," he sneered, raising his bladed arm and heading off to meet them.

Carol watched as he raised his prosthetic and quickly rammed it into the throat of one, pulling his blade out and swiping the metal of his prosthetic at its head, ignoring it as it fell to the floor, to thrust his blade quickly through the eye socket of the other. He pushed at it with his boot, kicking it away, chuckling as the body thumped to the floor.

He grinned at her briefly over his shoulder, before leaning down and popping his blade through the forehead of the prone walker laying on the ground, its limbs flailing briefly. He wiped the bayonet on the body, smearing thick dark blood on its filth grimed clothing.

She stared past him, her eyes traveling through the thick impenetrable line of trees. The feeling that she had been watched still prickling at her senses.

Merle caught her eye and he frowned at her. He shifted his legs, stamping his boots on the hardened ground, rousing her abruptly from her thoughts.

"Maybe it was nothing Merle. A walker, an animal-I don't know," she answered, starting to feel foolish. Maybe there hadn't been anything here other than her overwrought imagination playing tricks. She looked up as Merle paced over to her, his eyes drifting back towards the barn, to where the SUV was parked.

She looked in his direction, watching as Michonne loaded up the trunk with their few meager belongings, Daryl leaning with one shoulder to the door frame, a cloud of blue-grey smoke swirling above his head as he puffed on a cigarette.

"C'mon, let's get back before my little brother thinks we been up here bumpin' the uglies," Merle said suddenly, looking at her and smirking, "Unless ya wanna? Hell darlin', I'm up for that if ya wanna cop a feel of ole Merle."

Carol bit at her lip, smiling at him. "Okay, sure. I think I have a whole two minutes to spare you," she teased.

"Wha?" He moved quickly across, pulling her into him and pushing his hips at her. "Ya think this is gonna take two whole fuckin' minutes? I think not sweetheart," he growled. He caught her chin roughly with his hand and lowered his head to hers, kissing her deeply.

Carol honestly couldn't recall ever being kissed quite like that, the touch and sensation hard and wanton, yet full of tenderness. He let go of her after a moment, stroking his fingertips softly across her cheek, and she stood on shaky legs, her breath sitting tight in her lungs. She had to place her hand on his chest to steady herself, and she felt a blush streak across her cheeks as Merle slowly grinned at her.

"Yeah, is what I thought," he smirked. "Ain't no two fuckin' minutes."

He raised an eyebrow at her, then made off towards the SUV, stopping and waiting for her to follow. They made their way together, but Carol couldn't help but glance over her shoulder, her skin crawling uncomfortably, and she found that she still couldn't quite shake off the feeling that she had been watched.

"Daryl?" Merle hissed as they got closer to the SUV. "Where the hell ya get 'em smokes, brother?"

Carol opened the side door of the car and climbed in, but not before she saw the quick grin Daryl shot his brother. "Same damn place you keep findin' 'em, Merle."

"Asshole," Merle rasped as he got in next to her. He gave her a quick sharp look, and shrugged nonchalantly.

…

They traveled a few miles before Daryl was pulling the car up outside a long abandoned motel. Carol glanced out of the window warily, watching for walkers, and she grimaced as she saw a few stumbling haphazardly across the debris strewn parking lot.

"We need'a get some gas. Restock our fuel," Daryl explained, leaning over the drivers seat and glancing at them in the back seat.

"We usually do this," Michonne explained. "There is nothing worse than the next group taking a vehicle out for a run, and finding no gas."

"Ain't no problem," Merle said. "It ain't like we're in any damn rush to get back to the prison." He glanced out of the window, before pushing his door open. "Enough cars out here anyway. You lucked in there, little brother. Jus' wanna hope the unfortunate assholes filled their damn tanks 'fore the world went to shit."

Daryl scoffed quietly before shoving his own door open and stepping out, his boots thudding on the concrete as he grabbed at his crossbow.

The walkers were dispatched quickly enough between the four of them, and Carol watched as Michonne wielded her fine blade, feeling a renewed respect for the other woman as she made the chore seem effortless.

Daryl was tugging the trunk of the car open, and he reached in and grabbed at a length of rubber hosing, slinging it over his shoulder, across the strap off his crossbow. He paused, squinting in the sunlight, before tugging a large Jerry can out. He placed the can on the ground, before reaching in and handing them all their own backpacks, which they all tugged on and over their shoulders.

"Gonna make a start," he said to Michonne, indicating the Jerry can, and she nodded at him in reply.

"Do you think it's worth checking out these rooms?" Carol asked her.

"Maybe," Michonne answered, glancing across the parking lot. "Should take a look at the office, check for keys. That would make this a whole lot easier."

"Ya ain't gonna find any damn thing of any use," Merle grunted, watching as his brother paced over to a large blue Ford sedan.

"We don't know anything unless we start looking," Michonne replied evenly.

"I think that anything we find could be of use. Even if it's nothing more than a few blankets," Carol said, frowning at the little look Merle shot her. "Well? We don't know. And it doesn't hurt to try."

"Huh. Whatever," Merle grunted.

Carol was amused to see that Merle followed after Michonne as she made her way to the furthest building, and she tore her eyes away, pacing across and stepping over a fallen walker body. She held her knife firmly in her hands, watching as Daryl placed the Jerry can to the ground.

"Carol, don't ya come any closer," Daryl warned suddenly and she looked at him, her brow puckering at his sudden harsh tone.

"Why?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder at the sounds of footsteps and she watched as Michonne held up a bunch of keys jubilantly in one hand. Her eyes swept past her, and she saw that Merle was trailing behind and looking decidedly shifty. He held a baseball bat loosely in his hand, and she narrowed her eyes at him before stepping closer to Daryl and the Ford.

"Carol-" Daryl warned her again, and she frowned at him, watching as he leaned one arm to the roof of the car, before quickly slamming the door shut and pacing over to where she stood, his hand held slightly behind him, trying and failing to conceal his knife.

"Daryl, what is it?" she asked curiously.

He shook his head, his eyes downcast. He sighed quietly before glancing back at her, chewing at his lip. "There must'a been...a kid there, Carol. I don't want ya to see..." he trailed off.

She made to move past him, but Daryl snaked his hand out and grasped her arm firmly. "Don't. You don't need ta see it. Let me take care of it."

She looked at him and her heart ached at the concern in his voice, the way he stood shuffling his feet and trying his level best to avoid her gaze. "Okay." She wanted to thank him, but words seemed so inadequate. He was still looking out for her, even now. "I guess..." She blinked and swallowed quickly, "I guess I'll go with Michonne."

She glanced up again, and Daryl raised his head to meet her gaze, his eyes blazing a bright vivid shade of blue. She felt tears stinging and burning at the backs of her eyes, and she turned quickly away and stepped back across the concrete towards the others.

"Shit... sweetheart, yer okay?" Merle rasped softly to her side, and she looked up at him-thinking that she couldn't possibly take any more concern off either of the brothers. She made to brush past him, but he blocked her way, looming over and staring at her sullenly.

"I asked ya a damn question. Don't ya go an' shut me out, Carol," he said, and she thought she could hear a faint tremor of hurt in his tone. "My brother say anythin' to ya? Im'a kick his ass-"

"Merle, for Christ's sake," she retorted. "This isn't always about you, or about us...or about any damn thing. Just leave Daryl alone. He hasn't done anything."

"The fuck?" Merle hissed, raising his eyebrows.

She relented at the angry look he gave her and she reached out, grabbing at his prosthetic, her fingers grasping at the warmed metal. He let her hold his fake limb, even though he still looked pissed.

"Ya gonna tell me what the hell that fuckin' was?" he demanded.

She sighed, breathing quickly. "Daryl...he found a child in one of of the cars-"

"Oh, shit. I'm sorry...I didn't know, mouse," he grunted.

"Don't you go apologizing Merle," she smiled wanly at him. "You don't have nothing to apologize for."

"Carol?" Michonne asked abruptly, and Carol found that she was glad of the interruption. "I'm going to start checking these rooms out. You want some of these?" Michonne smiled as she held out the keys.

She was about to answer, but Merle moved away and crossed the distance, "Waste of damn time this," he said, tucking the baseball bat under his arm and taking a few of the key fobs from her. "Me an' Carol gonna go an' check on some of 'em rooms," he paused, before slowly smirking. "Don't ya go waiting up on us now, Mee'chonne."

Michonne rolled her eyes, "I won't. I doubt we got long anyway. Guess that would suit you, Merle. Time being the essence and all of that."

"The hell?" Merle retorted, and Carol couldn't help but smile. She grabbed at his arm, guiding him away from the other woman.

She glanced at the bat, taking the keys that he handed to her. "Any reason why you're holding onto that?" she asked.

"Ain't gotta have a reason," he said, frowning at the look she gave him. "Jus'...this kinda reminds me of an asshole I knew in Woodbury."

"All the more reason to just get rid of it," she remarked, although she felt curious. The night before, when he had told her about the 'biter pits' he had seemed to be letting his guard down around her-even if it was only a little bit, and she wondered if he would tell her more. She wouldn't push him though, not now. If he had something to say, she'd let it happen when he was ready. In some respects he was just like his brother-and she had learnt over time to never push anything where Daryl was concerned.

Merle sighed irritably, glancing across the parking lot. "Ya know, the jackass would use nothin' but a baseball bat. Guns an' crap yeah...but never a knife. Reckon he liked to bash the biter's heads in, that when we weren't fighting in the arena. Dumb fucker."

Carol shrugged, "I suppose he used what he felt comfortable with-like Michonne and her sword."

"It don't matter none. He's probably dead, an' I hope he fuckin' is. He was one of the bastards that turned against me-same as the rest of 'em Woodbury assholes."

"I'm sorry Merle," Carol answered.

"Don't ya be feeling sorry for me. It's old news now, darlin'," he shrugged. "I guess yer right, ain't no point holding on to this shit." He let the baseball bat slide from his fingers, and she watched as it fell to the ground, the thump of the wood hitting the asphalt dully.

…

Carol had to irritably agree that Merle was right all along-there had been hardly anything of use that they'd found in any of the rooms. She was helping Michonne fold and pack up the few duvets and large heavy blankets they'd jointly found that weren't overly mildewed and filth grimed.

Merle was leaning against the SUV wearing a 'told you so' expression plastered across his face, smoking a cigarette and watching them.

"You could help, you know," Michonne glowered at him.

Merle shrugged, the cigarette dangling out of his mouth, and he waggled his prosthetic limb at her. "Ain't gonna be good for shit, Mee'chonne," he smiled.

Michonne ignored him and tugged at the strap of her katana, pulling it off, and she opened the passenger door, leaning in and placing her sword across the seat. She looked up wryly at Carol. "One thing I'm really looking forward to when we get back, is a shower. I don't care if it's cold. I just want a shower."

"I miss my cell and my bed," Carol grimaced. "And to be honest? Yes. A shower right now sounds divine."

"I miss yer cell too," Merle grunted, and Carol glanced across at him, raising an eyebrow. "You mean, you miss your cell, Merle."

"I know what I said, woman," he scowled.

Daryl came across, wiping his hands on the leg of his pants. "I just want summat to damn well eat."

"Ain't nothing changed there, little brother. Yer always damn hungry." Merle dropped his smoke to the floor, and crossed his arm over his chest, his fingers curling around his prosthetic.

"C'mon, lets' get the hell out of here," Daryl said, watching as his brother shuffled his feet, before pushing himself from the car.

Michonne ignored them both as she climbed into the car, and Carol took one last look around the parking lot, her eyes being drawn to the large blue Ford, and what it held inside. She sighed under her breath. She hadn't seen the child, but her imagination was piquing at her. She turned her mind back to the prison and the small community that now sheltered under its impenetrable walls, her resolve firming.

She decided that once she was back, she would throw and immerse herself fully into the care and schooling that the children there so obviously needed. She would further their lessons...and make sure that the children would learn how to defend and look after themselves, properly. There was not point avoiding the issue any more. She would make sure that they were given the tools to survive, something that her own precious daughter had never got the chance to receive.

As the SUV finally pulled off and headed back towards the prison, Carol found that she was looking forward to it.

...


	41. Chapter 41

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.**

_A/n: This chapter has frustrated me to a large degree, as I have had to deviate a lot from my original intended and thought out plot line. Recently I made the mistake of reading a fanfic where the plot was something very similar to what I had intended to write all along-concerning of course, Carol, Merle and my OC Scott. So I have had to greatly rethink now where I am heading with this...and this new unplanned plot line/twist is now something of a work in process._

_I refuse to go along with my original idea and plot-line, for fear of plagiarizing somebody else's plot. And I am doing this as I have had this happen to myself-namely a Caryl fic I wrote a while back, where I had seen a whole key paragraph of my own story 'lifted' almost word for word, and written into somebody else's fanfic. I've never mentioned this before, but I feel the need to do so now._

_And as always, I would like to say a big thank you to those that are still with me in this story-it is very appreciated._

* * *

...

Merle leaned with his back against the door frame, one booted foot holding and propping the outer prison door open. The rain lashed down icy and hard, thick droplets that hit the concrete and spattered, sending little rivulets that ran and puddled. He raised his eyes to the dull drab sky and watched the rain as it fell, squinting his eyes as the occasional droplet hit his face and ran coolly down his skin.

They had been back a few days-and in the time that they had been away and returned, a lot of new shit had happened. For one thing, sheriff asshole had gotten himself a pig pen, and residing inside that was a fat dirty pig and a few pink piglets. Merle smirked to himself, yeah...it seemed Rick was right at home in that sty, like attracting like and all that shit-all pigs together. It wasn't no wonder that the sheriff was never far from the sty, what with it being almost a home from home.

The sound of feet shuffling next to him snapped him out of his reverie and he lowered his eyes to the young boy stood opposite him and almost mimicking his own pose. Carl was leaning with his back to the wall, watching him with those all too wide and all too knowing blue eyes that blazed at times just like his old mans. Always alert...always watching-it made Merle's skin feel like it was going to squirm right off his goddamn shoulders.

He huffed at the kid, glancing away and staring down the courtyard where the ramshackle array of wooden palettes that the pig pen had been constructed from loomed darkly in the dull afternoon light.

"How long yer ole man been down there?"

Carl shrugged, shifting one foot, his booted heel scraping across the floor. "I don't know. He spends a lot of time with the pigs lately."

"Bet he wonderin' where you are, huh boy?" Merle remarked, watching as Carl pouted. The boy had grown up in a lot of ways, but he was still nothing more than a kid-even though it was easy to forget just how young Carl was. The boy had a certain air that he carried about himself that belied his true age.

"No. Well okay...maybe. My Dad _still_ wants me to farm with him-"

Merle narrowed his eyes, "You ain't been forgettin' what I told ya a while back now, have ya kid?"

Carl stared at him and shook his head. "I haven't forgotten."

"Good. Ya know damn well that there are bigger things out there than pullin' a few damn weeds and looking after hogs. The threat's still out there, Carl. Don't ya go an' be forgetting that."

"I know. But he...I mean my Dad still won't let me have my gun back. I don't know what I'm supposed to do without it." Carl glanced away petulantly, and stared at the falling rain.

"Ya can always come an' help me an' some of the others clear them biters from the fences-when an' if this goddamned rain stops. You need to keep yer practice in." Merle chewed the inside of his cheek thoughtfully as Carl frowned at him, "Ain't the same as keepin' yer gun, I know kid," he said softly.

"Dad won't let me do that."

Merle's head snapped round to stare at the boy. "What the hell ya mean, he won't? Nut up kid, don't let yer ole man boss you 'round."

Carl sighed, and Merle thought he heard a note of irritation in the kids voice. "You don't understand," he whined, shuffling his feet.

"Yeah, ya think that I don't-but I do. I get it Carl. Was a time I let my ole man boss me an' Daryl around...shit was a lot different then though, 'cause at least yer ole man cares for you...not like that bastard of a father did for me an' my baby brother-"

Carl looked up at him, his eyes widening in surprise and Merle felt the heat as it rushed at his skin, coloring his cheeks. He clamped his mouth shut, wondering what the fucking hell had just possessed him to say crap like that to Carl. He twisted his gaze away, biting sharply at his lip, feeling like a complete pussy for spilling his guts around the Grimes kid. What the hell was happening to him.

"I'm sorry," Carl said, after a moment. He looked up at Merle, "You know I think I kind of annoyed my Dad. I named the pig."

"What...ya named it after yer ole man?" Merle asked, seeing a small smile start to pull at the boys mouth.

"No. I didn't do that. The pig _is_ a girl...so I named her Violet."

"Ain't no point naming shit when all we're gonna do is eat it at some point." Merle raised his eyebrow at Carl's quick glance, "Well-what did ya think we was gonna do with it? Play fuckin' hoopla?"

He wasn't overly surprised when the boy didn't answer. He watched as Carl raised his hand, one finger sticking out to push at the brim of the sheriffs hat that wasn't sat on his head no more- his hand instead brushing at his thick fringe. Merle found himself wondering why Carl wasn't wearing it anymore.

"Carol looks happy," Carl said, quickly changing the subject.

Merle glanced at him sharply, "Huh? What the hell's that supposed to mean, boy?"

Carl pushed himself away from the wall, "I'm just saying. She looks happy. It's good to see. I know she's been sad for a long time- I know how much she's missed Sophia."

Merle shrugged noncommittally, "Dunno why yer tellin' me kid. Ain't none of my damn business." He felt fucked if he was going to spill anymore damn secrets to the kid; although he did feel a small measure of pride at the thought that maybe he was the one that had been putting that smile on her face lately. God only knew that the woman deserved some sort of happiness-she'd been looking too damned miserable for way too long.

"Well...you do spend a lot of time with her," Carl remarked.

"That don't mean nothin', Carl. Don't ya go readin' too much shit into things." Merle hoped that Carl would just shut it. He didn't want or need anyone else knowing what was going on between him and the woman, and as far as he was concerned- there wasn't many that did know, apart from his brother and Michonne -and Merle hoped to keep it that way.

"You seem happier too," Carl ventured, smiling and then glancing away.

"Ain't you got somewhere you gotta be going, kid?" Merle glowered. He grabbed a cigarette from his pants pocket and lit it irritably, puffing out a plume of smoke from between his teeth. He frowned at the knowing smile written on the boys face, "Ain't ya going to Carol's story time with 'em other kids?"

"I'm _not_ a kid, Merle," Carl replied seriously. "I'm too old for stories and coloring in and drawing pictures for the prison walls. That's for the little kids like Luke and Mika."

"Heard yer friend Patrick goes," Merle remarked, watching Carl carefully.

"It's up to him what he does," Carl shrugged. "Like you said, there _are_ more important things to be worrying about."

"Huh, yeah," Merle sighed, looking at the never ending curtain of rainfall, before pulling his foot away and letting the door slam shut with a resounding clang. "Well boy, ain't gonna be doing anythin' out there in that damn rain," he remarked sourly.

"I'm going to see if Glenn needs any help," Carl watched him for a moment, his eyes bright and fixed unflinchingly on his, then he nodded and turned away.

Merle frowned as he watched the kid step back into the prison wing, listening as his footfalls faded into the distance. He pushed himself away from the wall, his hand catching out and grasping at the base of his prosthetic, his fingertips touching and rubbing at the leather strappings. He waited for a few moments before striding off into the direction of Carol and the library.

…

"Do you think he's said anything?" Carol asked, her brow puckering into fine little worry lines.

Merle glanced over her shoulder. The kids were grouped together at two of the larger tables, pads of paper, crayons and colored pencils littering the wooden table tops. Their heads were bowed in concentration, all except Luke who was looking at him curiously with large dark brown eyes. Merle glared and narrowed his eyes at the boy, almost smiling as the kid hurriedly dropped his gaze and grabbed at a thick black crayon, poring over his own piece of paper and scribbling furiously.

He looked back at Carol. "No, I don't think he's gone an' said anything. Seems he's still pissed at his ole man for keepin' his gun. Not that I blame the kid for that. Rick's an asshole who should know a damn sight better."

Carol sighed, then grimaced. "I tried to talk to him about what he saw, but he wouldn't have it. Rick wont be happy about any of this, Merle-"

"Yer worrying too much, mouse," he answered, looking cautiously over her shoulder as he reached out his hand and touched at hers with his fingers.

"I hope you're right," Carol looked at him and sighed, her fingers catching and tangling with his. "Ryan's been joining us in the library."

"Ryan?" Merle questioned, trying to picture a face to the name.

"Lizzie and Mika's father," Carol explained, a small smile on her face as she watched him. The smile fell and eased away as she stared across at the children, before glancing back up at him quickly. "The girls haven't said anything, and he never stays long. Just long enough to hear me 'read' to the children."

"How do ya know them kid's ain't gone an' said anything to him?"

"I trust them," she said simply. She gave his hand a quick squeeze and let go, moving back to the tables where the children sat.

Merle narrowed his eyes and watched as she made her way over to the children, grumbling under his breath. Since they'd been back, Carol had been spending most of her time with the children, mostly with the two Samuel's girls, and he couldn't help but feel concerned that she was becoming a little too attached to them. He'd seen how she was with them; how she acted, and he worried that she was setting herself up for one hell of a fall. Those girls weren't nothing to do with her, they weren't her damn kids. And they certainly wasn't supposed to be a replacement for Sophia. Merle wasn't stupid, he'd seen and watched them closely together over the last few days.

He picked up a book from one of the bookcases and carried it across to a table and chair set nearer to the door. He sat down, dragging his legs and resting them on top of the table, leaning back in his seat and resting the book against his prosthetic limb, idly thumbing through the pages and glancing towards Carol and the children.

Carol walked across to where Lizzie and Mika were sat with another of the small Woodbury girls, Molly and her seemingly ever present companion, Luke. "What are you drawing Lizzie?" she asked curiously.

The older Samuel's girl ignored her and carried on sketching, her arm curled around her piece of paper, shielding it from her inquisitive younger sister's view-much to Mika's obvious irritation.

"She won't say. Lizzie, why wont you show me?" the younger girl asked, impatience wrinkling her forehead.

"I don't want you to see, not until I've finished it," Lizzie said, fixing her sister with an unblinking stare, before bowing her head, the pencil in her hand scratching hard against the paper.

Mika huffed quietly, "Bet I know who you're drawing-and you're not supposed to Lizzie. I told you-"

"Shut up Mika," Lizzie hissed, curling her arm tighter around her drawing.

"Mika, do you want to show me your picture?" Carol asked, smiling as the young girl nodded eagerly, then held up her sketch for her to see.

The children had taken it upon themselves to draw pictures of the residents of the prison, and Carol bit back a smile as she looked at a drawing that was obviously Carl Grimes-complete with sheriffs hat perched on an almost cartoon like head.

"That's very good Mika. I'm sure Carl would love that."

Mika visibly blushed and looked up at Carol happily.

"I drew mister Merle," Luke said suddenly, raising his arm quickly to wave his drawing at her, the motion sending crayons and pieces of paper flying and fluttering to the ground.

Merle glanced up and frowned. Dumb assed fucking kids. He heard Carol's little laugh, and he placed his book on the table, shoving his legs away and getting to his feet. He paced irritably across, glaring at the drawing that Luke seemed ever so proud of.

"What the fu...is _that_ supposed to be?" he barked, staring at the stick man drawing of himself-complete with a gigantic crudely drawn version of his prosthetic arm, and an overly large head with a sour assed expression drawn thickly in black.

Carol nudged his arm with her elbow, covering her mouth with one hand. "Looks like you have a 'fan', Merle," she said softly, ignoring the narrowed look he shot her.

"My head ain't that damn big, kid," he grunted, glancing as the expression on Luke's face fell from a sunny smile to a pout that looked like it was verging on tears. The kid looked crestfallen.

"Say something nice," Carol insisted quietly, and Merle glanced back at her sharply. What the hell was he _supposed_ to say to the dumb kid.

"Huh...that's real nice, Luke. You'd been better off drawin' my brother though. He always was the prettier one-"

"I drawed mister Daryl," a voice shouted out, and Merle glanced at a sketch held up in the air, frowning as he saw that the likeness of his brother was a damn sight better than the one of himself.

"I've finished," Lizzie said, sitting up in her chair, and placing her crayon carefully to the table top.

Merle looked at the picture that Lizzie had drawn. While most of the other kids pictures were brightly colored, with little yellow suns at the corners of the paper and large colorful flowers, Lizzie's was drawn mostly in black. He frowned at the girl, dragging his eyes from her to look back at her drawing. She had drawn two groups of people with a thick black line scribbled in between and separating them. The figures on the one side of the drawing all had morose looking faces, while the others had big smiles. Merle saw that one of the figures with a big smile had a name badge which said 'Nick'.

Mika narrowed her eyes as she saw the drawing, "You're stupid, Lizzie. I knew you would draw him and I told you not to." She shook her head as she reached for another crayon, nudging her sister in the process.

"You don't know anything, Mika," Lizzie hissed quietly. She looked up questioningly at Carol, rising from her seat and pushing it back with a loud scrape against the wood of the floor, "May I be excused?"

Carol nodded, "Yes of course you may, Lizzie. I'm sure your dad will be back by now. Mika? Are you going to go with your sister?"

Mika shook her head, frowning a little. "No, can I stay here with the others, and with you?" she asked.

"Of course you can," Carol reached out her hand and touched at the girls hair, smiling softly at her. Merle scuffed his boots on the ground next to her, and she looked up at him narrowly.

"I ain't gonna be hangin' my ass 'round here, I got a watch shift to take. I'll see ya later?" he asked, ignoring the kids as they watched him.

Merle didn't wait for her answer, instead he strode over to the library door, pulling it open, and waiting as Carol chased after him. She touched at his arm, the soft smile on her face lighting the blues of her eyes, the small fine lines at her eyes crinkling mirthfully as she looked at him.

"Behave yourself and you might, Merle," she said playfully.

He wanted to pull her to him and show her just how much he damn well intended to misbehave- but he was painfully aware of where they were and the fact that they wasn't alone, and it mildly pissed him off. It felt that since they'd been back they hadn't had much time alone-the only time they'd had was when he'd sneak into her cell late at night...and he'd always made damn sure to use that time wisely.

"You need'a behave yerself too woman, ain't no knowin' what I'ma do if ya don't," he leered.

She raised an eyebrow, before turning away. "Is that a promise, Mr. Dixon?" she called out to him over her shoulder.

Merle chuckled to himself as he left the library, the door swinging shut behind him with a firm and resounding click.

…

Watch was uneventful as it normally was, and for once he actually felt the cold, the cool persistent icy rains seeping and dampening through his jacket to his skin. Nothing much had occurred, just Rick pacing at the fence lines for a while before the shitty sheriff must have decided that everything was all right before he slammed his way back into the prison block.

He watched as Bob, Zach, Sasha and Tyreese returned from a supply run in the Hyundai, and as he strained his eyes through the heavy curtain of rain that fell, he could just about make out the ever present biters littering at the gate and fences at the further most field.

Merle sighed, it seemed that there were more of the biters there than usual, and he knew he would have to mention it to the council, or someone. The way the fence was starting to wobble and buckle under the constant pressure of undead bodies pressing up against it-they'd have a problem on their hands soon enough.

He was thankful of the two Woodbury assholes that came to relive him of watch duty, and he stared at them, grunting as they waved at him. One of the guys, Henry-a guy with one of those stupid blue beanies perched on top of a mop of lank brown hair raised his brow at him as Merle flicked his cigarette butt at his feet.

"Quiet watch?" Henry asked, placing his foot on the embering butt and stamping it out.

"Same ole shit," Merle grunted. "Who's taking over after you guys?" He asked, watching as a young woman with long brown hair came up the steps.

She snagged her hand in her hair, her fingers trying to smooth down her hair as it flew about her shoulders in the wind. "Glenn and Maggie," she answered shortly.

Henry laughed at that, "I bet those two wont do much watching, eh, Chloe?"

Merle smirked at them, "Oh yeah...you can bet yer sweet asses that there wont be much of that goin' on with 'em two damn lovebirds." He found it funny as fuck that the Chinaman and his little girlfriend's reputation was far exceeding them.

Still smirking at the thought, he nodded at Henry and Chloe curtly, handing the rifle over to the other man, then making his way down the concrete steps, shrugging himself deeper into his jacket as the chill wind buffeted at his face. He didn't waste any time getting back to the prison block, tugging the door open and stepping through.

He paused for a moment as he heard the tones of voices raised in argument, one voice softer than the other, and he felt dread curl in the pit of his stomach as he listened more intently, pulling the door shut to the sound of the wind howling outside. Pacing softly, he turned the corner, anger suddenly surging hotly through his veins and pounding at his ears.

Scott was leaning over Carol, his hand caught tightly around her arm, holding and pinning her to the wall.

"You don't have anything to lose, Carol. So why the fuck not?" Scott angrily demanded.

Carol tried to push him away, but his grip on her arm tightened, and Merle heard her small gasp of pain. "He told me Scott. I don't owe-"

"That's what _you_ think. I don't care what you think that he told you. I haven't said anything yet-but I will," he hissed back. "And you'll owe me Carol. I'll make damn sure of that."

"What the hell is goin' on, ya lil fuckin' asswipe?" Merle bellowed. "Leave her the fuck alone!"

Scott glanced over his shoulder at Merle, surprise stretching across his face. "Just a little discussion. Nothing for you to be concerned about, Dixon," he drawled lazily.

Merle didn't think-he acted. He rushed at Scott, grabbing at the collar of his denim jacket, snagging it firmly in his fingers and dragging the man away from Carol. She stood back, rubbing at her wrist, her eyes wide and her cheeks flushed and as Merle watched, she rubbed at her arm and tugged at her sleeve- but not before he saw the large red angry mark marring her pale skin.

He threw Scott viciously to the ground in a tangle of flailing limbs, "That make ya feel big huh? Hurting women?" He aimed his boot and kicked at Scott, catching him in the side and he watched angrily as Scott lay on the ground gaping for breath. He slammed his boot into him again and again, before kneeling to the ground and grabbing at his head, his fingers curling into the other mans long hair and pulling him up by it.

Scott's eyes narrowed in pain and he gasped, struggling and trying to catch his breath.

"Men like you ain't worth shit. I told ya to keep the fuck away from her... an' now yer goddamned hurtin' her? You gutless fuckin' pussy. You make me sick." He curled his fingers tighter into Scott's hair then slammed his head hard into the ground, uncurling his fingers and letting him go with a grimace of pure disgust.

"Merle, please... just leave this," Carol pleaded.

Merle looked up at her and narrowed his eyes angrily, "I told ya...I ain't lettin' anyone damn well fuckin' hurt ya. What the fuck was you doing, huh? I told you to keep the hell away from this asshole," he barked, watching and feeling like a shit as she suddenly flinched away from him.

He glanced quickly away, watching as Scott tried to raise himself up on his arms, and before he could stop himself, he landed a hard vicious punch to the mans face, feeling the satisfying crunch of Scott's nose bust under his fist, his blood spraying up and soaking his cheek.

Merle leaned over him, pushing and placing his prosthetic arm on the mans chest, resting his weight on it, pinning him to the ground. "Come _anywhere_ near her again, an' I'll fuckin' kill you, you son of a goddamn bitch," he spat.

He pushed his way from Scott, getting to his feet and turning suddenly in surprise and weary frustration as he saw Glenn and Maggie watching them aghast. Glenn's hand was twisting in his hair and Maggie's face was drained of color, her mouth gaping open.

"We heard voices," Glenn said breathlessly, "Dude...I saw what happened...we couldn't do anything-"

Maggie had gone across to Carol and had her arm around her shoulders and was starting to lead her away and back towards the cells, but not before Merle saw the tears trickle down Carol's face and he felt sick and angry with himself and Scott all over again.

He shrugged, his head downcast, "Yeah, I bet ya saw, Glenn. Go on, do yer fuckin' worst. I don't give a shit no more," he spat tiredly.

"You know I've got to say something about this Merle..I've got to talk to Rick, to the Council," Glenn answered, walking towards him warily. He raised his hand in the air as Merle glared across at him.

He blinked rapidly in surprise as Glenn placed his hand on his shoulder. "Go and see Hershel, get your hand fixed," Glenn said quietly, seeing the blood and the grazes on his knuckles.

Merle looked at his hand dully, trying to shrug the Asian from off him, but Glenn tightened his grip momentarily before removing his hand.

"I'll tell them what I saw Merle. Don't worry." He looked at him for a second longer, before tearing his eyes away and pacing softly through the prison block.

Merle shot a quick look over his shoulder at the prone figure laying on the ground. Shit was going to hit the fan, and that shit was namely himself. He wondered what the fuck the repercussions of this was going to be. His knuckles stung and smarted, reminding him of what Glenn had advised-but Merle felt fucked about his hand.

That could wait.

Carol couldn't.

He turned and made his way towards her cell, ignoring the few curious glances that he got from the handful of residents sat in the cafeteria watching him silently.

...

* * *

_Added a/n: At this point, where Merle attacks Scott for hurting and attacking Carol, is the point where I now have to deviate from my intended storyline, where Merle is concerned. Hence, I have now had to add Glenn and Maggie to the mix. _

_..._


	42. Chapter 42

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.**

_a/n: I've been so busy with work and with things at home, and also I've been struggling with a really bad case of writers block in regards to this particular chapter. As I've had to change my intended plot, there are a few things that Merle has now had to deal with. This chapter really has not been one of the easiest to write-it has been a total nightmare, and it feels like I've been to hell and back writing this. But now it's done, and hopefully the next chapters will be a lot easier to write._

_The one line that Daryl says...yes I know it was used in the series in regards to different people, but that line...hell, I've been dying to use it here. So I did :p_

* * *

...

"He shouldn't have done what he did, Carol," Maggie said. "You can't try and justify any of it."

"I'm not making any excuses for him...but I feel bad about all of this," Carol answered.

Merle paused outside Carol's cell at the sound of their voices. He narrowed his eyes, leaning closer to the wall, trying to ignore the sounds of the other residents in the prison wing, muffled and bustling about underneath where his boots were planted firmly on the metal of the gangway.

"You shouldn't be making _any_ excuses-we all saw what happened."

"I know," Carol sighed, tiredness plain in her voice. "I know how it seems, but I honestly didn't know that he would react like that."

"I've told the council."

Merle leaned more towards the cell at the sound of the Asian's voice. "I don't know what action they're going to take, but something has to be done," Glenn answered. "When it comes down to it, we don't know much about him and what he was doing in Woodbury."

Merle huffed at that, glancing away from the bars of the cell door and grasping his prosthesis with his hand. No, nobody really knew what he'd done back there, and he'd only told _her_ a small amount of it. He could only imagine their reactions if they knew what he'd done, what Blake had made him do.

He had no regrets over kicking the shit out of that cock sucking bastard Scott-the only regret was that he hadn't had done it damn well sooner. It was his fault that Carol had gotten involved in this...it was because she was stupid enough to be with his miserable self that had gotten her into this situation. If she'd had stayed the hell away like all those times he had warned, none of this would have happened. And now he had to face the repercussions of his actions-and he could only imagine how a certain damn officer asshole was going to gloat over this. Probably a few of those other self satisfied pricks too.

And of course it had to be the Asian punk to go and rat on his ass-that fact wasn't lost on him at all. Glenn had been wanting to get his own back for what he done to him and his pretty little girlfriend.

"After this, he has lost any right to be in this group. He doesn't belong here-we can't trust him," Maggie said, and he could hear the sudden vehemence in her voice.

Merle leaned against the wall, the sudden fight that had been coursing through his veins fading and leaving a sourness that he couldn't shrug from off himself. The assholes were probably right. He had no part in the prison or with the group-he was too volatile and they were just waiting for him to fuck up to give them the excuse to get rid of him.

He grimaced, dropping his hand from his prosthetic to swat at the sweat beading on his brow. He knew what he had to do-and as much as he didn't want to do it, he'd have to. He didn't want to be the cause of any more problems for his brother, or for her.

Casting a reluctant glance towards Carol's cell, he pushed himself off the wall and slipped quietly down the metal gangway back towards his cell.

…

He pulled the backpack that he used for runs from underneath his bunk, staring at it sullenly, before sighing and reaching across to grab at a handful of spare clothing that was stacked neatly in the far corner of his cell. His eyes traveled across the small room, and he quirked an eyebrow as he saw one of his paperback books on his nightstand. He grabbed at it, thrusting it into the backpack along with the clothing.

He bit at his lip, taking a momentary stock of belongings that he would need to take with him, making a mental note to raid the pantry for a few cans of food with ring pulls and water bottles-enough to tide him over until he found himself a new place and new area, far from the where the prison was.

"Merle? You wanna tell me what the hell is going on?"

He glanced up quickly and saw his brother staring at him in confusion. He watched as Daryl raised his hand to his mouth and worriedly bit at his thumbnail. "Keep out'a this, little brother. This ain't nothin' to concern you."

"Like shit it ain't," Daryl hissed, watching his brother intently. He narrowed his eyes, "You gonna tell me what you been up to?

"Finally went an' put down that bastard, Scott," Merle said pointedly, "An' it felt damn good too, I ain't gonna lie. I doubt yer lil friends are gonna be so happy about it though-and I sure as hell ain't gonna waste my time pissin' my pants waiting for that judgmental asshole Rick Grimes to pass verdict on my ass. No siree. I'm getting the fuck out'a here while the going's still good."

"So...you're just gonna hightail yer ass out of here, huh? You're gonna run Merle? Like you always do? What about Carol? You figured that out, or you just gonna leave her like you've always left me?"

Merle turned and grabbed at his brother, catching his shirt in his hand and twisting it, before shoving him abruptly against the wall. He leaned his face in towards Daryl's, his eyes blazing angrily. "You don't know shit."

Daryl glared at him, standing his ground. "I know you're a goddamned coward, Merle."

Merle thrust his chin out defiantly, "You think they're gonna allow me to stay here after that? What you got in that head of yours Darlina? Shit for brains, huh? Wise up boy, they've been looking for an excuse to kick my ass out'a here, an' I been gone an' given them a reason. It don't matter none why I did it."

"You still ain't said why," Daryl questioned.

Merle leaned back and shook his head, his fingers loosening their grip in his brothers shirt. "Ain't got to give a reason," he said sighing. He saw the look in his brother's eyes, and relented a little.

"Look Daryl...I turn round after beating the crap out'a that ass wipe- an' I see Glenn and Maggie gawking at me like I'm shit on the goddamn sidewalk. Lookin' at me like they did right before I hauled their asses off to Woodbury. Ya know, good old times, yeah." He paused, glancing at Daryl and seeing the pained expression on his face. "You know they ain't wantin' me here, brother. If it weren't for that sweet little thing of a mouse-I reckon I'd been long gone. I ain't stupid-I ain't got no rightful place here, not like you."

Daryl stared at him, then shook his head in disbelief. "You know what? Ya need ta grow the fuck up, Merle. It ain't always about you. You ain't never seeing the bigger picture, ya dumbass. You just think about ya damned self. When we were kids... and when you were high and off your damn fuckin' head with your tweaker friends, you had a reason to be an asshole. Now you're clean and you're _here_, and I'm seeing that ya ain't got no reason no more. If you're gonna run, just do it Merle. Get the fuck out of here. I ain't needing you."

Merle gaped at him, "What the hell?"

Daryl paced across the cell floor, shrugging. He paused at the cell door, turning his head and glancing over his shoulder, "Ya heard me brother. I'm done with your crap."

Merle watched as Daryl walked away, listening to the sounds of his boots thumping on the hard ground and then fading into the distance. He narrowed his eyes as he tore his gaze from the cell door, turning his head to look sourly at his backpack.

…

"I was wondering when you were going to make an appearance," Hershel said from his seat as he watched Merle stride into the room. He placed the book that he'd been reading face down on the table in front of him, and clasped his hands over the table top.

"Whatever ole man." He glanced around the library, "Where's Ranger Rick? Thought that asshole would be here to gloat. An' where's the rest of y'all do fuckin' gooders?"

Hershel shook his head as Merle dragged a chair across the floor and sat heavily in it, his hand catching out and grasping at his prosthetic arm, his fingers fidgeting across the dull metal. "There's no need of that, Merle," he reprimanded softly. "There wasn't any need for Rick to be here."

"Huh," Merle grunted. "So y'all been discussing me? I bet Glenn couldn't wait to rat on my ass."

"No. Actually, Glenn vouched for you. The same as Maggie did." Merle looked at Hershel quickly and frowned. "There's no need to be so surprised, son. They told me and a few of the other council members what happened."

Merle grimaced sourly, "Oh yeah, I bet they fuckin' did."

Hershel glanced up, shaking his head slightly. "Merle? You're not doing yourself any favors. I can understand that you're thinking the worst, but from what I've heard-Scott's behavior was inexcusable. We can't, and will not tolerate any kind of behavior like that here. Right now, Scott is locked up in his cell. He has a bust rib, bruising and contusions, some minor lacerations to his face and a broken nose. I've fixed him up to the best of my ability...and I need not remind you that I am more used to treating cattle and horses, not people," he said wryly.

"I don't know why ya bothered. He ain't nothin' but garbage." Merle stared at him for a moment, "Look, can we just cut the crap and get to the damn point, Hershel?" he demanded.

He was feeling downright uncomfortable and wary of what the hell was going to happen to him. It annoyed him that he'd gone against his gut instinct to run-but if the truth were to be told, Daryl's' words had hit too close to home. He didn't know if he was here to prove a point to his brother, or to prove a point to himself.

Hershel looked at him, inclining his head briefly and gazing away to look across the library. "A human life is a life. It goes against my nature to think differently, Merle-especially the days that we live in now."

"The asshole was _asking_ for it. I weren't about to let him go an' hurt her, Hershel."

"I know, son." Hershel sighed deeply, scratching at his beard, "And if I am honest with myself...given my prior statement, I can't say that I blame you for what you did. I would do everything in my power to defend my girls-Maggie and Bethy. But you've got to understand it was the wrong way to react. We can't act so impulsively and use our fists. We have a council for-"

"Ya really think I was gonna sit on my goddamned ass while he was hurting her...and wait for y'all to make a decision? Fuck that," Merle spat.

"If everyone took matters into their own hands, we'd soon have a crisis," Hershel said. "It's _why_ we have a council and you need to understand that, Merle. The council haven't fully decided what we are going to do where Scott is concerned. But, we do not take lightly abuse towards our womenfolk. That is totally unacceptable."

Merle sighed under his breath. After everything that she had been through with her bastard of a husband, she didn't need to be dealing with shit like this from a stranger. For all his faults-and Merle knew damn well that he had a whole load of those-he had never in his life physically hurt a woman. He had seen enough of that shit from his cunt of a father to last him a lifetime.

He looked up quickly as Hershel rose to his feet a little too unsteadily, dragging his crutch under his arm. Merle made to rise up from his chair to help the old man, but Hershel just gave him a small smile and waved away his attempts to help.

He frowned as Hershel hobbled towards him, trying not to flinch as the old man paused, clapping one hand on his shoulder.

"She's a good woman, Merle. Probably one of the best that you'll ever know."

Merle glanced away from him quickly. "I don't know what the hell ya mean by that."

"I may be old and I may be bordering on senility at times, but one thing I am not, is blind. I've seen how the two of you are together."

"What ya been seeing ain't meanin' no damn thing, Hershel." He squirmed in his seat staring fixedly at the wood of the library floor and trying to ignore Hershel's earnest look. It was starting to damn well feel like every one in the prison knew what was happening between him and Carol.

"You can try and hide it all you want, but your actions speak louder than words. You wouldn't have done what you did otherwise. I've said this to you before Merle, different circumstances I know, but the meaning is the same. Don't let your pride and stubbornness get in your way. We all need someone...and I think that maybe you've found that out for yourself. The good Lord in his mercy saw fit to bless me not once, but twice with the love of a good woman."

Hershel stared at him for a moment, squeezing his hand on his shoulder before lifting it off and grasping at his crutch, turning to walk out of the room. "You're lucky to have Carol in your life. Don't fuck it up, son."

Merle watched as the old man hobbled out of the room, sighing all the pent up frustration from out of his lungs. He felt weary and confused. What he had expected to happen...hadn't and now he was at a complete loss. He sat for a moment, staring at his prosthetic, wanting to go and see Carol, but half fearing her reaction. He had expected Hershel to read him the riot act...he had thought that their self appointed council would have just kicked his miserable ass from the prison, but they hadn't done any of that shit. And now he honestly didn't know what to expect from her either...but the urge to turn tail and hide out somewhere until the shit blew over was starting to tempt him.

He got to his feet, irritably kicking his chair away and as he raised his hand he looked at the dried blood smeared across and on his knuckles. Indecisiveness crowded his thoughts. He hadn't seen Carol for a while, and he felt like an asshole for not checking to see how she was.

Chewing at his lip, he eventually made his mind up and he paced restlessly across the library, shoving the door open and walking smack into Glenn.

"What the hell, Kim Chi? What ya doing out here, being all sneaky and shit?" he barked loudly in surprise.

"Merle...I was just coming to see you," Glenn backed away, putting space between them. "You've spoken to Hershel?"

"Oh, yeah. We had ourselves an interesting little talk," he frowned.

"And?"

Merle shrugged, "What ye want me to say? Adios amigo? Nice fuckin' knowing ya?"

Glenn rolled his eyes, "I didn't mean that." He glanced away from him, staring down the corridor. "Have you been to see Carol? She was asking Maggie if she'd seen you around."

"No. I ain't gone seen her yet. I...huh...I was busy. Not that it's anything to do with you, boy." Merle was damned if he was going to admit that if it hadn't had been for Daryl, he would have been winging his ass away from the prison hours ago. He looked at Glenn cautiously, narrowing his eyes. "Is she alright?"

"She's fine. Just a little shaken up by what happened," Glenn said.

He nodded his head regretfully, yeah he bet she was. Thank fuck that little asshole was locked up behind bars...and Merle couldn't help but feel the irony of that, considering what they all now called home. "I gotta be going." He raised an eyebrow at Glenn and made to shove his way forcibly past him.

"Merle," Glenn called out.

He stopped in his tracks, his shoulders stiffening as he turned his head to stare at the Asian. "What?" he said curtly.

Glenn met his gaze unwaveringly. "Remember when you found us? Before you kidnapped me and Maggie and took us back to Woodbury with you?"

Merle sighed angrily, "I ain't gonna do this with you now, Kim. I ain't got the time or the damn inclination."

Glenn stepped closer to him, his dark eyes fixed unflinchingly on his. "I would have done anything to save Maggie. I still would. This with Carol and Scott? The frustration, the anger-knowing that you'd do almost anything in this damn world to save them and feeling powerless to stop any of it? You know what it feels like now, Merle."

Merle stared at him in surprise and was about to retort back, but the look on Glenn's face stopped him, and he thought better of it, clamping his mouth tightly shut. Glenn was right. He would have done any damn thing.

"Look, that before...Woodbury an' all? I ain't gonna make any excuses for what I did then. All you had to do was tell me where my brother was. But ya fuckin' didn't. I ain't gonna apologize for that, so don't ya go expecting me to. Yeah I've made a few shitty bad decisions, but that..._that_ one was on you. I would've even called it quits on what happened back there in Atlanta, but ya didn't give me any damn choice. All I wanted was to see my brother."

"There's _no_ excuse for what you did, Merle. What happened to Maggie? I can never forgive you for that," Glenn retorted hotly.

"Yeah, yeah I know," Merle grunted, gritting his teeth. "Huh...look, I told ya before-we ain't ever gonna be friends, an' we ain't got to be liking each other either, but we have to get along. Reckon we should agree to disagree on a few things, alright?"

Glenn sighed tightly, dropping his eyes from his to stare intently at the far wall. "Okay. You're right."

Merle looked at him thoughtfully, "So, we're all done with this shit?"

Glenn nodded, and Merle turned away from the younger man, taking a few steps before he heard him call his name again.

"A few of us are going on a supply run tomorrow, and... I'd like it if you'd come with us," Glenn asked cautiously.

Merle glanced at him in surprise, seeing the wary look painted on the younger mans face. He wondered if Glenn was offering him some sort of weird assed proverbial olive branch, and he knew damn well that he would be an ornery asshole if he didn't accept the younger mans obvious begrudging request. "Alright. I'll huh..see ya in the morning, Glenn."

"Okay," Glenn nodded, "Good." He offered Merle a small half hearted smile that appeared to be more of a grimace, before stepping past him hurriedly.

Merle sighed as he watched the Asian disappear into the prison wing. It seemed today was the mother fucking day of complete and utter goddamned fucking mysteries. He wanted and craved a cigarette badly, but he remembered that he'd left them in his cell...and as much as he wanted a smoke, he wanted and ached to see Carol more.

He glanced around the prison wing narrowly, making sure that there was no other fucker that was going to stop and want to talk crap to him, before making his way up the metal gangway to her cell.

She was sat on her bunk, one of his old shirts pulled across her lap, her head bent down in concentration, a needle and thread held in her fingers. She was completely unaware that he was stood there watching her. He leaned his shoulder to the cell door, the cool metal of the bars pressing against him and his gaze softened as he looked at her. He felt a pang as he watched her fixing up his shirt, and he realized that she was trying to repair the one that he'd worn when he'd stupidly tried to take on the Governor.

"Hey," he said softly, pushing himself away from the door and finally stepping into her cell.

Carol glanced up at him, the needle and thread falling from her fingers to land on the floor. She stood up quickly, his old shirt fluttering and falling across her thighs and she caught at it awkwardly with one hand, her fingers curling into the dark material.

Merle strode towards her, reaching out and taking the shirt from her, dropping it on to the mattress. "Look, hell...I'm sorry mouse. I should'a come seen ya earlier-"

"Merle," she said quietly, and he swallowed quickly at the sound of tears in her voice.

"Ah shit darlin'," he breathed. "What did he do to ya?"

She shook her head, "Can we not talk about it now, please?" She moved closer to him, slipping her arms around his waist and pressing her cheek firmly to his chest. "Don't talk. Don't say anything, Merle. I just want you to hold me."

He did as she asked without question and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer to him. He held her with his prosthetic gently, his hand reaching out and cupping her head, pressing her to him. He frowned, his fingers smoothing through her hair and he kissed the top of her head, her hair brushing softly against his nose.

They stood that way for a long time, his fingers trailing through her hair, his cheek resting against her. Her hand slipped from his waist, pressing to his chest, and he wondered if she could feel the beat of his heart as it thudded pitifully in his chest. She looked up at him and smiled softly, and he lowered his head, brushing his lips gently across hers.

"Well shit man...if this ain't looking like one of them goddamn romance novels."

He almost jumped out of his own damn skin at the sound of his brothers voice suddenly booming through the small cell. "Jesus, Daryl...yer timing sucks for fucks sake, little brother," Merle growled.

"Yeah, and yer a fine one to talk, Merle. Ya big dumbass," Daryl replied, smiling as he watched them.

Carol leaned a little from him to glance across to his brother, "Stop it, the both of you," she chided them softly.

"Merle?" Daryl asked, his voice suddenly low and full of emotion. "What I said earlier-shit man. I didn't mean any of it. I just wanted ya to know, brother."

"Don't ya go an' lie to me Daryl. Ya meant every damn word," Merle said quickly, "An' I'm glad that ya did. Shit needed to be said. You were right."

"What needed to be said?" Carol asked softly.

"Ain't nothin' really darlin'. Jus' me being a dumbass and my baby brother kicking butt," Merle said.

She looked up at him, pursing her lips and only humming in response.

Daryl shifted restlessly at the cell door, and Merle noticed that he had his crossbow strapped to his back. "I gotta go. I just wanted to see ya both before I left."

"Where ya going, Daryl?" he asked curiously.

"I'm gonna go fer a few days, hunting."

"Want me to come with you?" Merle questioned, stepping back and smirking slightly as Carol tightened her arm around his waist briefly, her fingers digging into the small of his back.

"Nah," Daryl shook his head, "You need ta be here, Merle," he said, looking at the both of them, and backing slowly out of the cell.

Merle let go of Carol reluctantly, moving away and towards his brother. "Thanks man," he said softly. His brother gave him a brief nod, his eyes skipping past the both of them to stare rigidly down the cell block.

Carol moved past him, and Merle watched as she touched at Daryl's cheek carefully, "Be safe out there, Daryl. Come back to us in one piece."

"I will," Daryl nodded again. His hand caught out and touched her arm quickly, before dropping back to his side. "Look after that dumbass of a brother of mine. Keep him out'a trouble."

"I'll certainly try to," she said wryly.

"The hell, woman?" Merle scoffed as Daryl strode away from them. He leaned out of the cell and watched as his brother disappeared from view, before tugging at the blanket that had been half pulled back from the cell doors. It fell thickly, shrouding them in darkness and Merle was surprised at how quick the damned day had flown by.

Carol moved across the cell, lighting the little lamp on her nightstand. She turned and looked at Merle, "I suppose we should go down and join the others-it's gotten so late."

"I ain't bothered," he replied. "I ain't seen ya...not since-" he frowned, glancing away from her.

"Not now Merle, please," she said as she sat on her bunk, looking up at him and offering him a small wan smile as she patted at the empty space next to her.

He raised his eyebrows as he went across and sat down, and he reached his arm out, wrapping it around her as she edged closer to him, her head resting on his chest. He pressed his lips to her forehead, smirking a little as she moved and snuggled up to him, her one hand slipping about his neck.

He listened as the sounds of her breathing got steadily slower and deeper in the quiet of the room, and he glanced down at her, smiling as he saw that she had fallen asleep. He curled his arm around her, holding her more firmly against him, wondering at the fact that for the first time in his life-he felt that he actually was a part of something.

What that something was-he wasn't exactly sure, but he would find out and even if that meant that part of it was accepting the olive branch Glenn had seemed to offer, then he would do so and he would try his best not to fuck things up.

But, he couldn't one hundred percent guarantee that shit still wouldn't happen.

...


	43. Chapter 43

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.**

_a/n: I have been struggling with writing these last few chapters, found that I had writers block and a bad case of silent and stubborn muses. I suppose work and real life has crept in and taken up so much of my time lately. But, I am glad to say that the muses are back (well namely one who is way more vocal than the other) and I am back on track-and am feeling somewhat happy about the newer direction that I am going to take._

_Although, Merle has pretty much decided to try and attempt a complete take-over with this fic, and to a degree, I will let him._

* * *

...

"So say Glenn, when y'all gonna pussy up on me, huh?" Merle drawled in amusement as he looked at the other men as they casually ambled across where the two cars were parked up. "Y'all ain't exactly looking like the meanest bunch'a assholes out there-except maybe the big guy," he raised an eyebrow, nodding towards Tyreese stood near to the SUV. "Reckon the big fella can handle himself, but I ain't fancying the chances of the rest y'all."

Glenn stared at him over his shoulder as he packed the last plastic box into the trunk of the SUV, "This is my call, my group, Merle. I've done supply runs with them before and there haven't been any issues yet." He slammed the trunk down and walked over to where he stood. "Just do your job and there won't be a problem."

Merle chuckled, "Oh don't ya go worrying about me, Kim. I'll do my bit." He glanced at Zach and Henry, watching as the two younger men leaned against the frame of the car, laughing together. "I just hope yer boy's ain't too wet behind the ears-I ain't comin' along jus' to babysit their goddamn asses."

"They've done this before," Glenn sighed as he turned from him, walking back towards where Tyreese was stood restlessly, his hand touching at the hammer pushed through the thick belt at his waist. Glenn glanced back at Merle, inclining his head a little. "They _know_ what they're doing," he reassured.

"I hope so Chinaman," Merle huffed, looking up sharply at the sound of boots coming from behind and from the direction of the prison block. "Mee'chonne," he called out, watching as the dark skinned woman sauntered across to him. He saw that she had her katana sheathed and strapped across her back, a duffel bag held loosely in one gloved hand. "Yer joining us?" he questioned.

Michonne shook head, her eyes flickering across his to stare down the courtyard. "No. I'm heading off out, thinking of making a detour and maybe head off towards Macon."

"Macon? Why the hell are ya going there? Little out of the normal range, ain't it?" he asked, frowning at her.

"I haven't stopped looking for him, Merle. I have to find him," she breathed, looking at him. She smiled, but the smile didn't reach her dark eyes. "I won't...and I can't give up, not yet."

"Damn, woman," Merle said quickly. "An' you're gonna go out there on yer own?"

She nodded, "It will be easier, quicker. Nobody to slow me down. I will be fine," she said as she saw the concern on his face. "I heard about Carol. Is she okay?" she asked softly.

Merle sighed tightly, scuffing his boots on the ground. His hand fidgeted at his pocket, and he contemplated grabbing at his cigarettes. Her question had taken him by surprise. "She seems to be alright, but I know she ain't."

He'd spent the night alone in his old cell-Carol hadn't wanted him there after she'd woken up-and as much as it had pissed him off, he'd begrudgingly respected her wishes and left her alone, even though it hadn't sat right with him all damn night.

Michonne gestured with her arm, indicating the prison block, "I'm in no hurry to be off, Merle. I can go and look in on her if you-"

"No," he replied curtly. "It's fine, Michonne," he relented a little at the quick look she gave him. "I been an' seen her this morning. She said she's gonna spend time with the kids...I dunno what the hell she's gonna do-an' I didn't ask, but maybe it'll do her some good, an' it ain't as if that bastard can get to her, what with his skanky ass locked up."

Michonne looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. "Don't hold yourself to blame for what happened, for what you did, Merle. You were protecting her."

He twisted his head away from her cool gaze, feeling decidedly uncomfortable. "Ain't knowing what the hell yer talkin' about, Mee'chonne," he retorted, pulling the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, and lighting one awkwardly.

He watched her carefully through a plume of smoke. There was something that he wanted to say to her-had been meaning to tell her for a while- but the timing had always been wrong. Now that she was heading off on her own, and for all he knew, if shit went down out there and she didn't come back, he would have lost the chance to tell her, and then he'd have to wrestle with his damn conscience, and he was getting sick and tired of having to deal with that crap.

He took a deep breath and grit his teeth, his cigarette dangling between his fingers. "Hell...I know I ain't never gone an' said shit to ya before, but what ya did- when we went after the Governor?"

Michonne hoisted the duffel bag over her shoulder, her eyes not leaving his. "You don't have to do this, Merle," she warned, looking at him warily.

He raised the cigarette to his mouth and took a deep pull of it, grey smoke spilling from his lips. "Yeah, I know," he replied awkwardly, "But sometimes...shit's gotta be said. I ain't never thanked ya, for changing yer mind."

"You didn't give me much of a chance back then," she said ruefully, shaking her head, her dreadlocks shifting across her shoulders. Merle watched as one slipped and brushed against her face and she raised her hand, pushing it away.

He felt like an asshole at that, but what was done, was done...and there weren't no point damn well crying over it. "What fuckin' ever. But ya know...I reckon I wouldn't have made it if ya hadn't had changed yer mind, Michonne," he grunted. "I know you and Blondie about went an' saved my ass. Gave me a second chance and all. Gave me more time to spend with my baby brother."

"Merle," Michonne said quietly, "Don't go thinking on it too much. You don't have to say anything."

He stared down the courtyard, watching as Zach and Tyreese pulled open the doors of the black Dodge Charger. He grimaced as he saw Glenn staring at him, before he climbed into the SUV. He looked away, raising wary eyes to hers. "Look I know I huh, I ain't exactly a sentimental type of guy, alright? But...hell I jus' wanted ya to know that," he said uncomfortably. Admitting this to Michonne...no matter how pussy it made him feel, seemed to help ease some of the restlessness that had been prickling at him lately.

"I appreciate that." She smiled suddenly, "That was pretty hard for you to say, wasn't it Merle? Losing the tough guy act and saying what was really on your mind for once." She quirked an eyebrow humorously at the sour expression on his face, "Oh don't worry, your secret is safe with me."

"Ah shut the hell up, Mee'chonne. Ain't you got some place yer supposed to be going to?" he grunted sourly, glancing over his shoulder as Zach repeatedly beeped the horn of the Charger. He sighed, narrowing his eyes, "Impatient asshole. If he does that again, I'm gonna shove that horn right up his fuckin'-"

"Looks like you're going to have fun while I'm away," Michonne interrupted, a slow grin spreading across her face. "Be careful out there, Merle," she said as she paced off towards the Hyundai.

"Yeah, yeah whatever. If ya find him...Blake, what ya gonna do?"

Michonne looked over her shoulder and shrugged, "I don't know. But I'm sure I'll figure something out."

Zach blared the horn again, and Merle swiveled quickly on his heels, striding across to the car and slamming his hand on the roof, leaning in slightly towards the half opened window. "Quit it boy, or I swear to God Im'a smash your teeth in," he growled as he pulled open the passenger door and dropped into his seat, slamming the door shut. "Damned noise is gonna attract them biters."

"Shit...sorry, I didn't think of that," Zach apologized, his eyes widening in sudden realization.

"Ain't no big deal, jus' don't pull a stunt like that again kid, or I'm gonna have to honor my promise to ya." Merle glanced away from him as he awkwardly buckled his seat-belt. "Why don't we jus' get this show on the road already, huh?"

Zach started the car up and pulled out slowly after the SUV, "You wouldn't really do that, would you?" he asked, half glancing at him.

"Who's to know, kid," he smirked. "I'm an unpredictable bastard. Makes life kinda interesting, don't ya think?"

"You're nothing like Daryl," Zach commented as they pulled up to the main gates.

Merle watched as Carl and Karen pulled the gate open, and he caught Carl's eye briefly, giving him a curt nod of his head. It still annoyed him that Rick wouldn't let the kid have his firearm back, and if Merle had his way-he'd find a gun for the boy. In fact, he was pretty damn adamant that he would, and he'd bear any repercussions with his usual good grace. In fact, he'd look forward to it.

"Nothin' like my brother? Yer saying that like it's a bad thing. What's yer name again, kid?" he asked, knowing damn well what his name was.

"It's Zach."

"Zach. An' how many of these runs have ya been on, boy?"

"A few, mostly with Glenn, yeah. I know what I'm doing out there," Zach said confidently as he pulled the car onto the main road. "This isn't my first time."

"Well, jus' as long as we're clear on a few things, _Zach_...I ain't along on the ride to wet nurse ya. Don't ya be going and screwin' things up. There's more at stake than your own hide to be going on an' thinking about. I ain't got time to be scraping your ass off the ground if you fuck up. Keep yer nose clean an' I ain't seeing that we're gonna have too many problems. Comprende?"

Zach frowned at him, "There won't be a problem."

"That's a bit harsh, don't you think?" Tyreese said from the back seat.

Merle pulled the windshield mirror down and stared at Tyreese's reflection, shaking his head. "I ain't thinking so, big guy. Kid needs to know the score."

"I am sat here, you know," Zach grunted. He tightened his hands on the steering wheel and sighed to himself as he concentrated on the road and the SUV in front of them.

"I think you should ease up on him, he knows what's out there. Maybe he should be the one asking you the questions?" Tyreese said slowly, meeting his gaze in the mirror.

"You ain't gotta be worrying about me," Merle answered, leaning his prosthetic against the door. "When the shit hits the fan-I'm exactly the kinda guy ya want at yer back. I get the job done-always have done."

Tyreese stared at his reflection for a moment, before nodding his head. "Yeah, I know. I heard about you at Woodbury-"

"What the hell ya hear?" Merle questioned.

"You're efficient and you get things done. Well, that's the polite version," he answered cautiously.

Merle narrowed his eyes suspiciously, "Who told you that?"

"One of the Governor's men, a guy called Martinez," Tyreese replied, his eyes widening as if he was suddenly remembering something. He looked away quickly and stared at his hands as they fidgeted in his lap.

"Huh, ole Brownie," Merle grunted. "Well, that shit ain't mattering none."

He stared out of the passenger window, watching as the long avenue of pines that lined either side of the deserted road blurred into an indistinguishable mix of greys and greens as the car sped past. How Martinez had reacted to him...even though they were supposed to be friends-comrades in arms, still pissed the fuck out of him. He knew that when he'd found the Governor, Martinez had been one of the first to put the boot to him. Literally. Him and that dumb fucking idiot Shumpert. They'd both kicked and beat the crap out of him, along with a few of the other pathetic wannabe Woodbury soldiers. If none of that shit had happened, he was under no doubt that he would have been able to take down that bastard Blake.

Martinez was nothing but a loyal naive dumbass, and even when his own doubts were brought into question-he'd gone and sided with the devil regardless. And if Merle ever saw that traitorous bastard again? He'd return the favor. Like for like. That was if the asshole wasn't already dead.

…

Zach had insisted on questioning Merle at every God given opportunity about his brother, and Merle found that after a while, the kids overwhelming natural exuberance and curiosity was starting to wear quite thin-and quite rapidly. He'd found himself being drawn into some stupid guessing game about what his brother had done before the whole world had turned to shit, and with some humor, he'd told Zach...and had almost convinced the kid that his brother had been in fact a male escort. He'd gone as so far to say that his brother was a good little earner, it seemed the bitches would hand over good money for a bit of rough assed redneck Dixon dick in them.

Zach had stared at him, his mouth hanging open, almost believing the tale as Merle elaborated on it more and more.

Almost.

The fact that he'd been unable to stop himself from laughing at the stunned look on Zach's face had kind of given the game away. Merle loved the irony-while it seemed that yes, the ladies sure did like his little brother...Daryl had spent most of his life bumbling away in complete and utter ignorance.

As the miles stretched out in front of them, Merle had found himself surprisingly warming to the younger man. The fact that Zach had lived a far different life to him and his brother was not lost on him for one moment-and he'd found himself curiously being drawn and interested as Zach spoke of his family, his home-life and upbringing and of his days at college.

If the world hadn't gone to crap, Merle was under no doubt that kids like Zach would have gone far in the world. Guys like him would have married the girl that they'd loved since prom and high school, the job that they'd worked hard at and deserved, the whole stable family unit and the white picketed fence and dream home-something that worthless uncivilized common rednecks like him and his brother could never have even imagined possible.

But the realization smacked home hard that he'd never been there for Daryl, he had never done enough for him. He'd wasted the majority of his life running scared and trying to bury the past in a destructive cocktail of drink, drugs and meaningless sex. He should have just manned the fuck up long ago and gotten his little brother out of that shitty fucking hell hole. He should have provided for him, nurtured and given him the chance of a life that was way beyond from the shit that they'd lived...and that he felt himself, he had no right to and didn't deserve.

It had taken the world to fall apart for him to realize that-and now? Now it was too fucking late. Daryl had to make do, the same as the rest of them. He'd never know any different now, and Merle knew he was the one to blame for that.

…

They'd stopped before he had even noticed-he'd retreated so deeply within himself that he'd lost all sense of time and of his surroundings, and he glanced up quickly as Zach nudged at his arm, rousing him from his thoughts.

"We're here," Zach said as he parked the Dodge up. He unbuckled his seat belt and looked at Merle before shoving his door open. The younger man stretched his arms over his head, grinning as Tyreese lumbered over to him, his hand swatting at the claw hammer at his waist.

"You ready for this, Ty?" Zach asked.

Merle shoved his own door open, climbing out as Glenn paced over to them.

Tyreese stared at Zach for a moment, before tearing his eyes away and staring across at the large grey formidable rectangular buildings that lay a short distance across a cardboard and refuse littered parking bay. He nodded quickly, but didn't answer.

Large steel shutters hung down, two bent and twisted, the gaping darkness thick and impenetrable within. Merle looked at the warehouses appraisingly, his eyes narrowing as he glanced away from them. Several large trucks sat parked up and abandoned, windscreens thick with dirt and grime. As he watched, a breeze picked up momentum, blowing across the loading bay and ruffling pieces of long discarded paper, fluttering them like confetti that chased across the dull tarmac.

"We all stick together in the groups that we traveled with. I don't want anyone separating. Merle?" Glenn looked at him questioningly, as if waiting for him to retaliate, but Merle felt mildly confident enough to trust him. This was his show, and Merle was curious as to how it would go down.

Glenn watched him for a moment, before nodding his head. His eyes drifted away from Merle's to sweep across the other men. "I've got Henry and Bob. We'll run a quick scout around before we gather the supplies. I won't take any chances-if anything goes down, stick to your group and back out. Don't take any chances-and don't go back. I won't put the whole group at risk-we cant. I know you already have, but check your weapons, check you have enough ammo. We don't want to use our guns-only use them as a last resort."

Merle watched as Zach and Henry drew the pistols from the holsters slung at their waists, checking their ammo clips and snapping them back sharply. He didn't have to check his. It had been drummed into him what seemed a life time ago. He noticed that the Asian looked calm, in control of the situation, and Merle felt a small tick of begrudging respect at the way that he was organizing shit.

Glenn nodded at the two men stood with him, watching as Bob slipped the machete from out of his belt. Henry stood almost impassively, a Bowie knife held firmly in his hand. Glenn drew out his own blade and glanced at them again as he stepped quickly away, the two men following silently behind him.

Merle's head snapped sharply to the left and he stepped forward quickly, a small grin tugging at his mouth as he saw a small group of biters ambling a short distance away. It amazed him how the dumb fucks could suddenly appear-but the truth of it was, the biters were never ever far away-they were like goddamn rats. He vaguely remembered back in his old life, hearing his Pa in one of his less inebriated moments complaining loudly about the incessant vermin scurrying about in their back yard, and his mother stating that supposedly you never lived more than six foot away from a rat; the vermin living so close because of the masses of human crap and garbage. He'd thought that funny and scary as shit as a kid, because their own backyard resembled a junkyard-the carcases of rotting and rusted out vehicles misused and forgotten, and on more than one occasion, he'd had to go and rescue and soothe his inquisitive fearful younger brother, as Daryl had hid out crying and whimpering inside one or two of the rotting rust buckets.

He rubbed his hand over his thin beard and grimaced-it wasn't long before one of the biters noticed that they were there, and as soon as one noticed-it wouldn't take long before others did too. Merle stepped across the loading bay, his boots kicking up flurries of dirt and scraps of paper. The wind whipped up a little stronger, blowing pieces that wrapped around his ankles, before they fluttered away and tumbled end over end across the asphalt. He raised his prosthetic limb ready, his mouth fixing into a firm tight line as he regarded the biters.

Tyreese was puffing slightly at his side, and Merle glanced at him. "You alright?" he asked quietly, watching as Tyreese fretted. "This ain't no time to be having no goddamn meltdown. Get yer shit together," he hissed.

Tyreese nodded quickly and pawed at the woolen beanie on his head, smoothing it into place. "I'm fine brother. I'm fine," he said.

Merle was about to retort that he weren't no fucking brother to no big assed nigger when he noticed the sweat beading at Tyreese's brow. "What the hell is yer problem?" he asked, grimacing. "This ain't the time to lose yer bottle. Cool it the hell down, big guy."

"Back at the prison, killing the walkers at the fences, you _see_ them...you _see_ who they were after a while," Tyreese replied, shaking his head. "I ain't ever been happy killing them that way...I can't bear to look at their faces," he explained. "I know what we're doing out here is different. I just forget. It ain't nothing but nerves, man-I'm cool."

Merle frowned at him. He'd thought that the big guy had been on supply runs before, but he was acting like he was about to crap his goddamn pants. "Nut the fuck up," he glowered, his gaze shifting past him and towards the two younger men as they entered the building alongside Glenn. "Ya ain't seeing them act all pussy. Set an example, for Christ's sake."

Tyreese exhaled sharply, tugging the hammer from his belt, his fingers flexing over it. "I'm good," he said firmly, looking at Merle. He nodded quickly, "I'm good. Ain't going to be a problem, brother."

He was about to reply that Tyreese wasn't looking as good as he was damn well insisting he was, when the low growling of a biter reached across to him. "Ya wanna show me if ya can handle this shit?" he asked. "That ya ain't a goddamn pussy?"

The big man glowered at him, and Merle couldn't help but smirk at the indignant expression that spread slowly across Tyreese's face. His fingers flexed more tightly over the handle of the hammer, holding it firmly, and he shot Merle a quick withering look before striding across and meeting the biter head on.

The biter slithered to the floor, its pulpy head caved in, and Tyreese raised the hammer again, smashing it into the side of another undead walking asshole. The big man ignored the body as it hit the ground with a muted dull thump, and Merle watched in surprise as Tyreese waded into the small throng of biters, the hammer repeatedly smashing into their heads.

The heavy silence in the air was interrupted by the dull thumping sound of his hammer, the bodies tumbling to the ground, the sounds of Tyreese's breath hitching in his chest and expelling out in small grunting gasps.

Soon, there were no more of the biters standing, and Merle looked across as Zach stood near to him, his mouth hanging slightly open in the same casual surprise that he felt himself. He turned his head, his eyes meeting Zach's. He saw the same _what the fuck_ question in the kids dark eyes.

Tyreese looked at them both pointedly, "I told you, I'm good."

"Damn fuckin' straight ya are," Merle rasped softly, raising his eyebrows and slowly starting to smile.

...

He was staring at a large dubiously stained cardboard box at eye level on the sturdy gun metal shelving as Zach held the flashlight and shone it at the box.

"Ain't knowing what we got here," he said to the kid, briefly looking at Zach as he nodded back at him in agreement. The last few boxes that they'd found had yielded fuck all of any use to them and the group back at the prison.

He stabbed at the box with the blade of his prosthetic, cutting a jagged 'X' into the thick cardboard. "Shine the light higher, kid," he grunted quietly as Zach did as he was told. Merle sighed, hoping and wishing that this damn box full of crap would hold out more promise than the last two fucking boxes.

He shoved his hand through the cardboard, his fingers reaching and grasping, then tightening. He pulled his hand out, staring at what lay in his opened palm as Zach shone the light at him. "Shit yeah," he grinned. "We been an' gone done better on this damn one," he said, staring at the sealed pack of batteries in his hand.

"Not so bad," Zach smiled back at him.

Merle nodded in agreement, knowing that this big assed box of batteries would be very highly beneficial to the prison. And as luck would have it for once in their favor-the batteries were of the right type that would fit the storm lamps that most of them had been using in their cells.

"Say kid," Merle asked quietly, "Would ya get the box off that shelf and drag it over there?" he indicated the steel shutter door that they'd come through with a swift curt nod of his head.

Zach didn't answer, he just stuffed the flashlight into his mouth, holding it between his teeth as he pulled the box from the shelving. Merle watched as the kid carried the box away, before looking back across towards Tyreese, at the light that flashed and danced across the box filled isle that he was stood in.

"Ya found anything?" he called out softly.

Tyreese sighed, "No, not unless you want a whole box full of Barbie's."

"Huh?" Merle grunted.

"Dolls. That's all that's here. Checked a few, but it's full of nothing but kids stuff." Tyreese chuckled softly, "Sasha had a whole load of these when she weren't nothing more than a-"

Merle paced away irritably. He didn't have time to hear that the big dumbasses sister had a penchant for lame assed dolls when she were a kid.

"Glenn. Glenn! You need to look at this!"

He glanced up quickly at the sound of excitement lacing Henry's voice.

"Dude...shush it up, Henry. Keep your voice down," Glenn answered swiftly, and Merle turned his head, listening and trying to pinpoint the direction of their voices. They were separated between the long thick seemingly never ending walls of brown cardboard, the sounds of their voices muffled in the large vast room.

"I know," Henry answered, "But you've got to see this. Meatballs! I found cans of meatballs. Do you know how long it's been since I last had these?"

Merle moved down the isle, shaking his head in amusement. He let his fingers trail across the shelving, stopping as he come across the next box. He looked towards the shutter doors, the light bouncing across the floor as Zach made to come back over to them.

He paused as his ears picked up the sound of a low throaty moan, and he swiveled his head side to side. A room this size, surrounded by the walls of cardboard, and it was easy to lose all sense of direction-especially in the thick unrelenting darkness that smothered them

"Shit. Oh my God...shit...Glenn!" Henry yelped out suddenly.

Merle stiffened, his palm resting against the box. He frowned at Zach, watching in the faint light as the young man gaped. Tyreese's flashlight bounced across towards them, and Merle heard his low gasp of wary surprise.

Boxes spilled to the ground loudly, the dull thumps echoing suddenly in the heavy stillness and the beams of the flashlights suddenly flashed all around. Merle looked quickly to Tyreese. "Follow me," he barked out, looking over his shoulder at Zach. "Kid... go back an' guard the entrance. Do it now, for fucks sake," he snapped as Zach stared at him wildly in confusion.

Merle raced down the isles, his prosthetic held out before him, and he stopped, nearly tripping over his own feet as he saw Glenn stumble backwards, his arms flailing and his shoulders hitting the metal shelving, a biter clawing and falling on top of him as he hit the floor.

His flashlight hit the ground and rolled a few feet away, the yellowing beams lighting and showing the dark anguish and fear in Glenn's eyes as he grappled with the biter.

...


	44. Chapter 44

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.**

_a/n: This chapter is a quicker update than the others-I just had to get this chapter written down while the scenes were still running in my head. The next chapter probably won't be updated so quickly as this one-I'm back at work tomorrow, so will write whenever I get the chance._

_Thank you as always for being here and reading this._

* * *

...

Glenn's hands were gripping the biters shoulders, his fingers clawing and digging into its soft flesh, the strain and exertion contorting his face as he tried to push it away from him. Sweat beaded at his temples and ran down his face, and Merle watched as the Asian swiveled his head to the side as the strength in his arms suddenly start to give out, causing the biter to press its heavy dead weight more wildly against him-its teeth snapping and clacking scant inches from his face.

Merle raced forward, grabbing at the biters head, his fingers catching at its skin. He narrowly missed getting bitten as its teeth nearly caught on his fingertips and Merle shoved his hand more firmly against it, snagging his fingers back and driving its face up and away from Glenn. His hand caught under its chin, and he held its head up as he raised and quickly drove the blade of his prosthetic firmly through its skull, using his strength to bodily thrust it up and out of the Chinamans way.

Glenn slithered across the ground, his feet frantically kicking out and slipping as his boots struggled to gain purchase on the dirty floor, and Merle leaned back a little and reached out with his hand, his fingers snagging into the Asians jacket, and he forcibly propelled him across the floor on his back. He stepped quickly over Glenn, the biter still impaled on his bayonet.

Merle grunted with the effort, his momentum pushing the biter up, and he aimed his boot at its chest, kicking it solidly away and from off his blade. He leaned over it, looking at it appraisingly as he thrust his bayonet through its face, the darkened blood spraying out and staining the ground black.

He was dimly aware that a flashlight was aimed at them, and he narrowed his eyes in the sudden light, squinting as he glanced quickly over his shoulder. Zach was helping Glenn to his feet, the kids face pale and drawn in the thin and reedy yellow light.

"Get him out'a here," Merle spat out quickly. He saw the hesitation in Zach's eyes, "Jus' fuckin' do it, kid. Make sure he ain't been bitten or anything."

"No," Zach shook his head, "I'm not leaving you-"

"I ain't arguing the fuck with ya. Get out of here! Now!" Merle hissed loudly, looking away from them and into the direction of Tyreese. He couldn't see the big man, but he could hear the steady pounding thumps of his hammer.

"Merle," Glenn said shakily. "Dude...I-"

Merle shook his head as he picked the fallen flashlight off the ground, and he hurriedly moved away from them. "Save it Chinaman. Not now." He paused for a moment, his light flashing towards them, and he watched briefly as Zach led Glenn towards the shuttered doors on the other side of the warehouse, feeling a relief flood through him as they made their way towards the entrance.

He tore his eyes away from them. He was pissed as hell. He'd had told Zach to stand guard, not that there was any real great need of it, he'd only said it to keep Zach out of the way-to make sure that if anybody was going to make it out alive, he'd made damn well sure that it would have been the kid.

But Zach had come back when he'd been told to fucking well stand his ground, and as Merle rushed down the box filled isle, he decided that he would make sure that the kid would have his ass soundly kicked for disobeying a direct order.

He shone his light down the isles, the light bouncing off the stifling cardboard wall of boxes, his eyes frantically darting about, searching for signs of the other three men. He could still hear Tyreese, and he hoped to hell that the big man was alright.

He rounded a corner, the isle suddenly smoothing out into a large flatter expanse of emptier space, and as he shone his flashlight, he caught sight of Henry, the mans face ashen as he cowered behind a stack of large boxes.

"What the hell-" he started to say, stopping as he saw the anguish on the other mans face. "You okay?" he asked, stepping closer. "Henry, answer me for Christ's sake. Are you alright? Have ya been bitten? Scratched?"

"N-n-no. I don't think so. S-shit..." Henry stammered fearfully. "I...oh God, I don't know, that biter-I saw it and I couldn't do anything. I froze, man. I fucked up and I froze!"

"Ain't nothing ya can do 'bout that right now, just move yer goddamn ass," Merle rasped thickly. He glanced away from the other man, staring back down the isles, "Ya seen the others?"

"T-t-the others?"

"For fucks sake man, get yer act together. Ya seen Bob? Tyreese?" Merle cocked his ear, frowning worriedly as he found that the sounds of the big man and his hammer had faded away into nothingness.

He didn't answer, and Merle glared at him angrily. He paced over quickly, thrusting the flashlight between his teeth as he grabbed at Henry, his fingers grasping and pinching roughly at his shoulder, forcefully dragging him from out of the cover of the boxes that he was hidden behind.

Pulling the flashlight from his mouth, he shoved it at Henry, watching as the man looked at it in confusion, before his fingers curled around the handle.

Merle thrust his face at him, "Yer gonna calm the hell down and help me. You got that?" he soothed, trying to placate the younger man. "We ain't leavin' none of ours here, yer understanding me, huh?"

Henry nodded at him dumbly. "But what if they're dead...what if-"

"We ain't got no time to be thinking shit like that. I told ya. We ain't leaving our people behind. Yer gonna help me find them, then we'll do what we gotta do," Merle answered curtly.

"Okay," Henry breathed shakily, "I got you."

Merle looked at him for a second longer, before inclining his head swiftly. "Now yer gonna follow me, an' yer gonna keep yer shit together, alright?"

He glanced around them, his eyes narrowing as he squinted in the dim light. He could just about make out the dim shape of a glassed cubicle-some sort of managers office, and as he stared, he swore he saw a shadow move inside.

"Henry, you gotta keep that light jus' beyond me. I ain't exactly got use of both of my hands. I'm gonna need ya to help me," he said sourly, grimacing at his own words.

Shit would have been a damn sight easier with the use of two hands, but Merle was fast becoming used to the shitty hand that he'd been dealt with. He fucking well hated and resented having to ask Henry to help him...but now was the time to swallow down that stubborn assed Dixon pride and quit being a goddamn pussy when there were others that needed help. He would let himself rant about that age old misery in the confines of his own cell. Now was not the fucking time.

He pulled his pistol from his waistband, thumbing the safety off, and he paced swiftly and silently forwards, Henry trailing behind him, the flashlight guiding and dimly lighting their way. Merle stopped, holding the pistol up quickly as he stared through the pale light. He turned and glanced at the other man over his shoulder, "This way," he grunted.

They'd only taken a few more tentative steps forwards when they walked into Tyreese, and Merle felt fear and surprise spear his guts as he quickly thumbed the safety and thrust his gun back at his waist.

Tyreese was stood in the thick shadows, his dark eyes wide and glazed over, the hammer in his hand raised and dripping with blood. He stepped over, his hand reaching out and snagging around Tyreese's wrist as the big man gaped at him unseeingly, the muscles in his arm bulging thickly as he resisted Merle's tight grip and attempted to smack the hammer across his temple.

"Whoa...cool it down big guy, cool the fuck down," Merle hissed. His own muscles bunched tightly in his arm as he fought rigidly against Tyreese.

Tyreese frowned suddenly, the dark look drifting from across his eyes. He blinked rapidly several times, his arm relaxing and the hammer drooping in his grip. "Merle? Where's Bob?" he asked fearfully, gulping harshly before he let his arm sag under Merle's tight grip. "I lost him, I couldn't find-"

"We're gonna go an' look for him, it ain't no problem," Merle answered. He let his gaze drop from Tyreese, and he glanced down with surprise at the bodies of biters that littered the floor at Tyreese's feet. "Shit man, ya really went an' did a number on these undead fucks," he said wonderingly.

"There's somebody out there," Henry whispered quickly, the flashlight in his hand darting away from them, and illuminating the dark grimed glass of the managers cubicle.

"C'mon," Merle rasped. He was getting pretty tired of this shit real fast.

They moved across the warehouse towards the cubicle and as they stepped nearer to it, Merle raised his hand, grunting irritably as Tyreese made to push his way past him. He glared at the big man, defying him to move. Tyreese just gaped at him, before casting his eyes to the ground and muttering under his breath.

"What the fuck ya saying, 'cause I ain't exactly hearing ya," Merle challenged him. He watched for a moment, all the while his ears listening out for any sound of Bob, or of biters. "You stay here an' guard our asses," he grunted. "Henry, yer with me. Lets see if that asshole is in here."

He waited a moment as Henry caught up with him, then he strode towards the cubicle, pushing the door open with the flat of his hand, raising his prosthetic at the ready as Henry shone the flashlight into the office, the dull light thinly dispelling the dank shadows. The light flickered up and across at the sound of a sharp intake of breath, and as Merle stared, he saw Bob emerge reluctantly, clutching at the straps of his pack.

Bob stepped out slowly, his dark eyes widened in fear, and as Merle listened more intently, he swore he heard the soft clink of glass bottles in the other mans backpack.

…

"Jesus, you made it!" Zach grinned as he pushed himself away and off from the Dodge that he'd been leaning his back against. He stepped quickly across towards them, only stopping when he saw the angry look on Merle's face.

"I told ya boy, to stay put, an' ya fuckin' well didn't," Merle spat out angrily.

Zach frowned, his eyes downcast. "I wasn't going to leave you all in there, not with those things," he said quickly.

Merle sighed, "God fuckin' help me that I should go an' put my damn boot up yer worthless ass. I tell ya something kid? You listen to me an' ya fuckin' well do it."

"I'm sorry," Zach replied, but Merle ignored him, choosing to glance at the Korean. He moved across to the Dodge, opening the trunk, knowing that Glenn was watching him.

Glenn walked over to him, sighing and running one hand through the tangled mess of his hair. "Merle, I should-"

Merle shook his head, "Save it Glenn," he said curtly. "Ain't got the time to be hearing this shit. We still got a job to do." He glanced up as Tyreese and Henry lumbered across to them, Bob following behind. He narrowed his eyes at Stookey. Something was going down with him, and Merle was determined to find out exactly what the hell that was.

"You're going... back...in there?" Bob spluttered out fearfully.

"Damn straight I am," Merle answered. "Y'all can stay out here, keep Henry an' Stookey company. Guard the damn vehicles if ya think y'all can manage that without fuckin' it up."

Henry grunted sourly before stepping across to the SUV, cranking the trunk open.

Merle huffed at them, then looked up sharply as he heard the Korean shuffle his feet.

"I'm coming with you," Glenn said suddenly, swirling the blade in his hands, the motion cutting and whispering in the air.

"Are ya sure yer up to it, Kim?" Merle asked curiously, watching as Glenn took a deep steadying breath.

Glenn met his gaze unwaveringly. "Do you really think that I'm going to let you steal all the glory? Hell no. I'm coming with you Merle, and I don't care what you think. This is still my show, my damn run."

Merle gazed at him, his lips slowly tugging upwards into a lazy grin. "Ya got some damn balls on ya, for a Chinaman," he said humorously.

"I'm Korean," Glenn replied as he stepped across and stood next to him, his dark eyes watching him defiantly.

Merle chuckled suddenly, "Whatever."

…

Merle didn't want-or trust Henry or Bob with him as he made his way back into the warehouse, instead he'd made them wait out at the cars like the pussies they were. Glenn was adamant about accompanying him, as was Tyreese and Zach, and Merle was suddenly confused and surprised about the other mens unexpected support and sudden determination to join him. He hadn't wanted...or expected any damn thing from any of them, but they'd insisted, and he'd found that he'd had to swallow down a few hasty and hateful retorts. Especially when he'd seen the sincere look shining on the young kids face as Zach looked at him.

Merle sighed.

Between the four of them-they had put down the last few biters that had been roaming haphazardly in the maze of the warehouse, and they'd managed to accumulate a fair sized mass of supplies, mostly canned goods-something that the prison was badly in need of.

He'd let Zach take out the large box of batteries, and he was suddenly feeling charitable enough to let the kid take the glory back at the prison for their discovery too-knowing damn well that shit like batteries would be vastly wanted by the majority in the prison-even that fuckwad officer Grimes. Merle had seen him using an old fashioned Walkman while he was out in the fields playing captain A-hole, and he could only guess what kind of shit Rick listened too.

Probably some faggot assed crap like Celine Dion, or RE fucking M, Merle mused. That seemed gay enough for good old Ranger fucking Rick.

As the last supplies were boxed up and stowed in the trunks, he slapped his hand on the roof of the Dodge, watching as Zach grinned at him. Glenn was pulling open the door of the SUV, and as he caught Merle's eye, he smiled tightly, inclining his head quickly, before tugging his door shut.

Merle waited as Tyreese climbed into the backseat, and he stood for a moment, letting his gaze travel across the loading bay, watching as the wind tumbled over sheets of ragged paper that skipped across the tarmac. The low groans of a biter reached him and he raised his eyebrows at the sound, shaking his head as he tugged the passenger door of the Dodge open, and dropping heavily into the seat. He slammed his door shut and glanced across at Zach.

"Let's get the fuck home, kid," he said.

…

The prison wing was pretty much deserted, most of them in their cells, taking watch or taking care of the biters massing at the fences, and Merle was thankful for the quiet as he sat at a table. One of the former Woodbury women, Jeanette had been clearing away the remnants of the last meal, but she had insisted that she'd had enough left over to spare the men as they'd bustled their way through.

Henry had declined, as had Stookey, and Merle had watched Bob suspiciously as he'd slunk his way back to D-block.

Zach had gulped down his food in break neck speed, and Merle thought that the only other person he'd seen devour food so quickly and ravenously was his own damn brother. He'd bit back a chuckle as Zach had thrust his empty plate quickly back on the table, wiping hurriedly at his mouth with the back of his hand and murmuring his quick farewells.

Merle knew that Zach probably had a hot date with a certain little Greene girl, and he glanced across the table, frowning as Glenn came over and sat down heavily opposite him, idly toying with his food with his fork.

"Ain't ya got a hot date too, ya know...a certain lil Bo damned Peep?" he questioned, smirking at the look of exasperation on Glenn's face.

Glenn huffed as he ate his food slowly. "I could say the same, Merle."

Merle scoffed loudly, "Ain't no bitch gonna make me go an' rush after them."

Glenn raised his eyebrows, but said nothing, only choosing to smile a little at his food. "Are you so sure about that?" he said after a while.

Merle placed his fork onto his empty plate and rubbed his hand over his thin greying beard. "Ain't knowing what yer meaning, Kim." He knew damn well what Glenn meant-hell it felt like everyone in the prison liked to have a little dig at him about Carol lately, and Merle purely out of habit and stubbornness would never admit to anything.

"What you did at the warehouse-"

He shook his head irritably, "Shit...whatever yer gonna say Glenn, don't. Ya ain't got no need to say any damn thing."

"I owe you," Glenn replied carefully.

Merle sighed, "Ya don't. Look, let's not make a big thing out'a this, alright? I ain't the type to turn his back on shit. Let's jus' leave it at that."

Glenn stared at him for a moment, nodding his head briefly before twisting his gaze away. "Merle, do me a favor. Don't breathe a word of this to Maggie. She wouldn't be happy about what happened-she doesn't like me going on the supply runs as it is. So...just really, not a word to her, okay?"

Merle laughed at that.

"Dude...I'm fucking serious. Don't breathe a word. Please." Glenn looked at him fixedly before pushing his chair back, watching as Merle nodded at him. "I'm off. I...uh, thanks Merle. For what you did out there."

"Think nothin' of it," Merle grunted uncomfortably. He watched as Glenn made his way towards the cell that he shared with Maggie, then he pushed his own chair back as he stiffly got to his feet.

He paced across the cell block, making his way to Carol's cell, thinking what a pussy whipped idiot Glenn was for wanting to run to his woman as soon as he could. Merle smirked at the thought, raising an eyebrow and glancing at their cell as his feet clomped up the metal gangplank towards Carol's. After everything that had happened, he badly wanted to see her.

And to his surprise he found that he didn't really care if that made him a pussy too.

...


	45. Chapter 45

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.**

_a/n: I don't normally write any type of flash-back scene in this fic, but the one here kind of wanted to write itself. I have tried to write it differently, but whatever I came up with just didn't seem to work, in my mind. I am still not altogether sure if this works or comes across as how I meant it to be in this chapter-I just hope that it does work._

_Angst in this chapter, but hopefully we will be back to the Marol in the next one :)_

_As always, I'd like to thank everyone with me in this fic-it is always greatly appreciated!_

* * *

...

It wasn't very often that the prison seemed so large and so empty as it did right at this moment, Carol mused silently as she looked up from the large stack of dirty dishes and plates. There were times that she longed and craved for peace and quiet, and now that she had it-she was longing instead for the hustle and bustle, for the normality of every day prison life.

Daryl had gone off on a hunting trip that she knew would last a few days, Michonne had gone on an agenda of her own making, and Carol didn't expect to see her anytime soon. Even Merle had gone on a run with others, and she admitted to herself somewhat reluctantly, that she missed all of them...and she just wanted everyone safely back together in one place.

"-and there he stood with this great big carving knife in his hands, and I hadn't the heart to tell Al, my husband...I used to think more ali-mony than Albert mind...well- I'd forgotten to take the turkey out of the freezer the night before, and oh my dear Lord...you know how men are? When he _saw_ what we'd got instead-"

Carol looked away and sighed under her breath. Jeanette meant well enough, but the woman hadn't paused for breath in the last ten minutes, and she was starting to feel that she wouldn't stand a chance of getting another word in edge ways any time soon.

She clinked the china plate in her hands a little too loudly against the side of the dull grey metal sink, soapy suds spraying out and soaking the sleeves of her shirt, little frothy bubbles sitting on the fabric, and as Carol watched, those little bubbles popped.

"Oh...I just talk too much, don't I?" Jeanette looked at her worriedly for a moment, before unleashing into yet another verbal onslaught.

Carol raised her eyebrows and quickly glanced away from the dark skinned woman, staring at her hands instead and sighing softly to herself.

Merle had already left with Glenn, Tyreese and the others, and she couldn't help but worry about him-knowing the whole situation and history between the two men. They barely tolerated each other as it was-so it had come as a quite the surprise that Merle had seemed to want to go on this supply run with him so willingly. And he hadn't said what had changed his mind-not that she'd really given him much of a chance.

Her mind had been focused on Scott and what had happened and she'd found to her despair that as the evening had stretched on, and as Merle had made it abundantly clear that he wasn't going to sleep in his own cell anytime soon- the thought of him being so near had suddenly alarmed her. There was no way that she would let him know how she was feeling, and as the time had dragged on, she'd found herself worrying and fearing his reaction, fearing what he would do if she told him and then fearing for him. In the end, it had been easier for her to persuade him to spend the night in his own cell, no matter how much he had sulked over the fact.

She had seen him briefly that morning before he had left with Glenn, and he had been concerned for her in his usual bluff and abrupt manner, and she had wondered if she had made a mistake about worrying and misjudging his reactions. Without him there-she had slept little, and when she had, her dreams had been painful. It constantly surprised her just how much his presence always seemed to ease and comfort her...to even chase away those dark thoughts and darker dreams, and she had instantly regretted sending him away, but her foolish pride had prevented her from calling him back. And now he was gone-she missed him, and she desperately wished that he was back at the prison. Even if she couldn't tell him what had happened, just him being there felt enough.

Irritably she shook the suds off her crinkled and heat reddened hands-the soapy water a lot hotter than either her or Jeanette had intended, but with no luxury of free running hot water-they'd had to make do with boiling the water for the dishes in the large sized catering kettles. She grabbed at a dish towel and quickly wiped at the crockery, stacking it together ready for use for the evening meal.

As much as she tried to focus on the menial task at hand, and the more she tried to ignore what had happened the night before, the more and more it crept into her thoughts. She closed her eyes briefly, tears starting to smart beneath her eyelids, and she found to her horror that her mind kept on churning up the memories that she tried so hard to fight against.

"_You'd make this a lot easier on yourself if you just gave in," Scott smiled. "I don't know why you're fighting this, I mean-you let that fucking dog-assed hick near you all the damn time."_

_She tried to push him away, but Scott leaned closer to her again, his one arm crossed over the top of her head, his breath hot and cloying against her skin._

"_Oh come on. I've seen how you look at me, Carol. You're telling me that you actually prefer that redneck bastard to me?"_

"_Scott. Just stop it, please. I don't know why the hell you're doing this." She held her breath as he leaned in closer, trying to twist her head away from him._

_His eyes locked on hers and he grinned tightly, his hand coming out and forcefully grasping her arm, his fingers unmercifully tight and pinching on her skin, holding and shoving her against the wall more firmly. "Why? Because that ass-hole deserves nothing. He doesn't deserve you. It's nothing personal, Carol. Well, not to you. You're just there, you know?"_

"_Let me go," she hissed angrily._

"_You don't have anything to lose, Carol. So why the fuck not?" Scott demanded._

_She tried to push him away, but his grip on her arm tightened, and she gasped in pain as his fingers dug into her flesh more solidly. "He told me Scott. I don't owe you-"_

"_That's what you think. I don't care what you think he told you. I haven't said anything to anyone yet-but I will."_

"Carol? Are you okay?" Jeanette asked quickly, "You looked miles away..."

She turned to look at the other woman, seeing the concern in her eyes and she made to brush her hand across her face, to swat at her eyes, but she misjudged and her elbow caught at a small stack of precariously balanced plates, sending them tumbling.

There was a loud crash, the sound of breaking crockery echoing largely in the room, and Carol shakily looked down at her feet, seeing the small shards of white porcelain littering the dark floor like an accusation. She stooped down quickly and started picking up the pieces, not realizing that she had sliced the tip of one finger until she saw a small crimson dab blotting against the white chips that lay on the ground. She brought her hand back up quickly, staring at the cut, watching as blood blossomed then trickled down her finger from the small wound.

Jeanette flapped around her and Carol just shook her head as she raised her hand to her mouth and sucked at her finger, the coppery tang of blood sharp and dry in her mouth.

"You should get that looked at," Jeanette said quickly.

Carol shrugged, "It's nothing. Just a small cut."

"Let Caleb take a look at it," Jeanette suggested, "Oh don't you go worrying about these," she said indicating the large mound of crockery.

"Alright," Carol answered shortly, knowing by now that it was pretty futile to even try to disagree, "I'll go see him. Thanks, and I'm sorry about the plates, Jeanette." She offered the other woman a small smile that she didn't feel, she swiftly moved away, her feet carrying her off into the direction of D-block.

She had no intention of seeing Dr. S.

…

Carol stood in front of the locked down cell, keeping herself a small and safe distance away. She watched Scott as he slumbered on his bunk, his deep sonorous snores rasping through his bust up nose and she grit her teeth as she watched. Even asleep, she hated and resented him for making her feel the way she did now. Weak. Vulnerable and stupid. Like she had felt so often in the past with Ed.

Scott's face was puffy, a large single garish dark purple bruise under one eye, several band-aids across the bridge of his nose, soaked and stiffened with dried blood. He was bare chested, and she could see his dark chest hair curling across his pale chest, poking through the sterile white bandages that were bound tightly around his rib cage.

She smoothed her hands across her pants, wiping the sweat from off her palms as she looked at him. How many times Ed had made her feel the way she was feeling now, and after he had died... and after she had finally sunk that axe into his worthless damn skull-she'd thought that she was finally free of hateful bullying men like him.

She startled suddenly as she felt her hand being touched at, and as she glanced down fearfully to her side, she exhaled sharply she saw Lizzie stood next to her, watching her silently. The girl slipped her hand into hers and she breathed a little too shakily as the girl tightened her small grip on her hand.

"I know what it feels like," Lizzie said quietly, looking away from her. "I get sad too. I have a trick though and it helps me. Maybe it could help you too?"

Carol held onto Lizzie's hand. She didn't know what she meant, but she felt herself marginally relax in the young girls company.

"Come on," Lizzie said suddenly, turning her eyes up to look her, and smiling. "We haven't had our Story Time today, and I want to learn more about..." she trailed off and bit at her lip almost shyly, even though her eyes burned with a strange intensity. "I know Mika wants to learn too. You have to show us, please?" she pleaded.

Carol took one last look at the man sleeping on the bunk before turning back to the girl. "You're right Lizzie. I must have forgotten the time," she said as the girl tugged at her hand, trying to lead her away from the cell and into the direction of the library.

Carol knew then that it was her duty to show these children how to protect themselves, and not just from the walkers that roamed. The dangers were everywhere.

…

"Have you got a minute? We've all been so busy lately, I feel that none of us have had any time for each other. To talk, to see how things are."

Carol glanced up and saw Rick watching her, his eyes intent and curious as he looked at her. He tilted his head a little to the side, his eyes dropping from hers to stare across the courtyard, "I understand if you are busy-"

"No, it's not that Rick," she said quickly. "It's just been a long day and I'm tired. I'm sorry." She shook her head, feeling the need to explain. "I've just finished lessons with the children, and I guess I forget at times just how draining and demanding they can be."

"Try looking after an unruly teen _and_ a baby," he replied, smacking his hand softly to the side of his head as he saw the pain flash across her eyes. "Hell, I'm sorry Carol," he said softly. "I didn't think."

"Don't be Rick. I don't want everyone handling me with kid gloves. They say time is a great healer, and I suppose that it is. I'm just not quite there yet," she replied. "How's it going out there?" she asked, wanting to break the direction that the conversation was heading towards, indicating the fields and pig pen with her head instead.

Rick came across and stood next to her, "Walk with me?" he asked.

She nodded as she fell into step with him as they made their way back to the prison wing, and for a moment they walked in silence. She shrugged herself deeper into her jacket as the rain fell coldly and softly, a small smile tugging at her mouth as she remembered Daryl giving it to her in his shy and awkward way. She missed him, and she worried for him every single time he was away from the group-but she knew that if anyone could take care of themselves, it was him.

"You know Carl named the pig, don't you?" Rick frowned, his sharp blue eyes flitting from hers to glance in the direction of the lower fields.

"I did hear," she replied, "He called her Violet?"

"Yeah," Rick chuckled. "I don't know where he got that name from-although I do recall his third grade elementary teacher, a very large woman- and I wonder if she was the inspiration behind the name."

"Well, that certainly conjures an image," Carol smiled.

"It does," Rick answered, and they fell into silence again, the sounds of their boots clicking on the rain soaked concrete, the only other noise apart from the steady ever present muffled groans of the walkers.

Carol glanced away from Rick, watching as Maggie, Andrea and a few of the others from Woodbury putt down the walkers that were surging at the fences. "There seems to be more of them than usual," she said, looking at him worriedly.

"The walkers? Yes," he answered, rubbing at his beard almost thoughtfully. "It's strange and I haven't quite worked it out- but it's almost like something is drawing them there," he smiled apologetically, "I mean, something other than _just_ us."

"Maybe their natural food supplies are running low," she said, grimacing at the thought and wondering just how natural it seemed to be considering the walkers as they did nowadays. "Oh God, that sounds so wrong."

"No," Rick agreed. "I knew what you meant."

"You've been going back out there?" Carol questioned, even though she already knew the answer, watching as he paused, his brow crinkling. He swatted at his beard again, and she wondered if he knew that he seemed to do that often, out of habit, and often when he seemed that he was unsure of things.

"You've heard about that?" he asked.

Carol quirked an eyebrow at him, "It's fairly common knowledge Rick. The whole Council knows." She shook her head, eyeing him warily. "You need to start taking your gun-"

"I'm not doing that. Not anymore," he replied shortly.

Carol shrugged, "It isn't your decision to make, Rick. You can't go out there-not unarmed. Anything could happen. If you don't agree with me, you should speak to Hershel, or Glenn and the others. You have to take your firearm whenever you venture outside of the gates."

Rick sighed. "And I don't have any say in this?"

Carol shrugged, "You gave that up when you decided to hand over the running of the prison to the Council." She relented a little at his look. "It makes sense. You have to think of Judith and Carl. You are taking too many risks out there that you shouldn't be making."

"So, it's already been decided then?" he questioned wearily.

She nodded, stopping as they came to the prison door. "Pretty much so, yes."

Rick pulled the door open, waiting for her to step through before pulling it shut with a dull muted clang. They walked back to her cell in silence, and several times she glanced at him quickly. When he said nothing, just continued to walk steadily at her side, she raised her eyebrows at him, "Are you really going to walk me right back to my cell?"

Rick laughed a little, "I honestly forgot where we were going, but now that you mention it, maybe I will."

"I don't need anyone to chaperone me Rick."

"I know you don't. But I wanted to talk to you, in private. There's something I need to say," he said as they stood outside her cell.

Carol frowned at him as she pushed back the thick heavy blanket that acted as the door to her cell. "What is it?" she asked stiffly. A heavy weariness had started to settle over herself and she suddenly wanted him gone.

Rick looked at her, his eyes fixed firmly on hers, and Carol started to fear what he was going to ask. She'd seen that look before.

"Carl told me," he said simply.

She stared at him, before awkwardly breaking his gaze and stepping quickly into her cell, the breath catching in her lungs and drying her throat. She glanced away from him, licking at her lips. "And what did he say exactly?" she asked tightly.

"He told me about the children, about Story Time...and the knives. I know what you are doing, Carol," Rick said, stepping into her cell.

She looked at him fearfully, "I don't know what you mean."

"You do," he said as he shook his head, "Before-I would have disagreed with what you're doing. But now... now I think you have a point. I'm not happy about any of it, but yes-you are right. The children...we can't shelter them from this anymore. They see the walkers every day. They need to know what is out there, they need to know how to take care of themselves."

"I'm surprised," she answered. "I didn't think that you'd agree, not that it is your call to make anymore. What changed your mind?"

"I've seen and learnt a lot. I guess stepping back has shown me a few home truths," he replied.

Carol looked at him curiously, wondering if he was half serious, but the look on his face showed her that he was.

Rick glanced from her, his eyes traveling across her cell. "There was one other thing," he said quietly. "And I know that you don't want me to ask this, but I am going to anyway. Are you okay, Carol?"

"About what?" she said, turning from him.

He caught at her, his fingers wrapping around her arm just above the elbow, and as she flinched at his unexpected touch, he relented and eased up on his hold, but not withdrawing.

He watched her carefully, his eyes catching and holding hers. "You _know_ what."

Carol sighed, "Is this about Scott? Because if it is, I'm fine. You don't have to worry-"

"What exactly did he do to you?" Rick asked, turning her to face him and watching her carefully.

She twisted her head away, biting at her lip. She didn't want to tell him anything, but she knew of old that he could be bull-headed when he wanted to be. "What do you want me to say, Rick?" she demanded suddenly. "That Scott threatened me? That he tried to kiss me? That he tried to-"

"Oh Christ, Carol. I'm sorry, I didn't know," he said, his fingers tightening on her arm. "No wonder Merle did what he did."

"He doesn't know. I haven't told him...not any of that," she answered as Rick looked at her quickly, his eyes widening in surprise. "And I'm not going to."

"Why?" he asked, sighing and bringing his hand up to rub at his forehead. "Hell. I know that I'd heard... seen what he'd done to Scott, but this-"

"Just leave Merle out of this, Rick," she said quickly. She knew that Rick wanted...and would tear Merle down any God given opportunity that presented itself, and she wasn't about to go and let that happen. Merle had been through enough, and she certainly wasn't going to let Rick pass judgement on him for what he had done. She felt ashamed over the whole ordeal as it was-and she didn't want Rick adding any more to it.

"No," Rick said, "From what you've just said...Merle was well within his right."

Carol glanced at him in weary surprise.

He looked at her and shrugged. "I might not agree with what he says or does a lot of the time. The majority of the time, even. But he was right on that call. I would have done the same if it had been Lori-before-" he trailed off quickly.

She knew that he meant Shane, but she wasn't about to go and mention it. She was about to answer, when she heard the heavy tread of boots clanging on the metal gangplank, and she glanced up stiffly as Merle suddenly loomed at the entrance of her cell.

His eyes were narrowed angrily as he looked from her to Rick, his eyes dropping as he saw Rick's hand grasping her arm, the way that they were stood close together.

"Ya wanna tell me what the fuck is going on?" Merle snapped, pushing his way into her cell and glaring at them both.

…


	46. Chapter 46

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking dead.**

_a/n: As always, thank you to everyone with me in this fic._

* * *

...

Rick watched warily as Merle strode into the small room, his hand dropping from Carol's arm. He stepped back a pace, rubbing at his face, "I...think maybe I should go," he said quickly.

Merle turned his angry gaze on him."Ya fuckin' well think?" he spat out.

"I didn't know you'd gotten back, Merle," Carol said, glancing from Rick.

"What the hell's _that_ supposed to mean?" Merle barked out suspiciously. He turned his head, his eyes narrowing as he thought he saw a strange little look pass between the both of them. "This what ya do when I'm gone, huh? Entertainin' assholes like him in our goddamn cell?"

"Merle," Rick said as he stepped away. "I don't know what you think is going on here, but you've got it all wrong."

"Jus' get the fuck out'a here, Rick," he glowered.

Rick looked away from him and glanced towards Carol. "Will you be alright?" he asked, pausing and waiting for her to answer as he moved towards the entrance.

"It's okay Rick," she reassured him with a small tired smile.

Merle snorted in indignation, and he sharply brought his hand up and shoved hard against Rick, the sudden motion jostling and almost pushing him off his feet. Rick glared at him, and he was mildly amused to see the hostility burning in the other mans eyes.

"You wanna make somethin' of this?" Merle demanded, stepping forwards and squaring his shoulders as Rick edged his way towards the cell door. "'Cause yer a fuckin' asshole if you think I'm gonna let any damn thing happen to her."

Carol stepped quickly between them, holding one hand out towards Merle, trying to placate him. She gave him a curt look before glancing from him to look at Rick, and Merle watched in disgust as she touched at the sheriffs wrist, "I think it would be better if you just go Rick," she said softly.

Rick didn't answer, he just looked at her for moment longer before inclining his head. "Okay. But if you need anything-"

"She ain't needing any damn thing off ya," Merle snapped. "You heard the woman-go an' get the hell out'a here. I ain't gonna warn ya again."

He felt some satisfaction as Rick backed awkwardly out of the cell, and he stepped out after him, leaning his shoulder to the bars of the door, watching as Rick walked down the gangway, the heel of his cowboy boots clicking on the metal. He waited for a moment longer, before turning to glance at Carol over his shoulder.

"You want to tell me what the hell Rick was doing in our cell?"

She looked at him and raised her eyebrows, her mouth drawn into a tight thin line, and Merle wondered at the fact that she seemed angry with him. He shrugged as her eyes narrowed, and she moved away from him to sit on the edge of her bunk, her hands resting on her thighs.

"Ain't got anything to say, huh?" he asked, walking back into the cell. He made to sit on the bunk with her, backing away quickly and thinking better of it as she flashed her eyes at him in warning.

"We were only talking," she said tightly.

Merle tilted his head slightly to the side, looking at her narrowly. "Didn't look it to me," he muttered sourly. "Talking with yer hands all over each other-"

"Merle? What the hell is wrong with you?" she snapped out suddenly, and he widened his eyes in surprise at the vehemence in her tone.

"Ain't nothing wrong with me, sweetheart," he drawled. "Jus' sayin' it how it is."

She sighed wearily, "I have no idea what you thought was happening, but I'm telling you Merle, we were talking, it was nothing more than that."

Merle huffed, "Yeah...alright, of course ye were darlin'. Talking...in our cell. With that asshole." He didn't believe it for one minute, and he was starting to think on all the other times that he'd been away and if Rick had been anywhere near. He was of half a mind to go after him and knock him flat on his goddamned ass.

"My cell, Merle. Not yours, not ours. _My_ cell. And if I want to talk to Rick in _my_ cell, then I damn well will," she grated out.

He didn't say anything, just curled his lip at her. She was starting to piss him off, and he watched irritably as she pulled herself further up on the bunk, dragging her legs up and leaning her back to the wall. She banded her arms about her knees, her hands clasping loosely together, and she glanced up at him for a moment, before tearing her gaze away but not before he saw the start of tears shimmering brightly in her eyes.

"Ah hell. Whatcha crying for now?" he grunted uncomfortably. He grasped at his prosthetic, drumming his fingers against the dull grimed metal. "You huh...you ain't got no need fer any of that shit."

"Why have you got to over-react?" she asked, ignoring the quick annoyed look he shot her. "I had to speak to him privately, and I didn't want the whole damn prison to hear. You know how it is, Merle."

Yeah he knew how it damn well was, and he wondered what would have happened if he had turned up five minutes later. He would have caught them both for sure. It surprised and sickened him to think of them both together, and now the stupid woman was accusing _him_ of over-reacting. He knew that he wasn't-how the hell could he after he'd seen them together like that. Sheriff fucking asshole was gunning for him all along, what better way to finally try to drive him away than this.

"Are you even listening to me?" she asked, breaking into his thoughts.

He glanced at her, dropping his hand from his prosthetic and pushing himself away from the wall. "What?"

She stared at him, shaking her head, before moving off the bunk and coming across to stand near him. He raised his head, his eyes not leaving hers. "You should leave, Merle," she said. "Just go."

He frowned at her, "I ain't going any fuckin' where," he retorted stubbornly. "You wouldn't let me anywhere near ya last night, an' ya ain't gonna do it to me again." He paused, watching her carefully, "Unless ya got a reason. Maybe ye want your asshole boyfriend-"

"For Christ's sake!" Carol snapped at him.

She sighed tiredly and stepped closer to him, and he felt himself trying to shrink away from her, inching away until his back hit the wall solidly. She reached out her hand and touched at his cheek, her fingers brushing softly against his thin beard, and he swallowed thickly at the sensation, trying to twist his head away from her.

"I can't do this," she said quietly, her fingers trailing down to his chin before dropping away. She stepped back from him and banded her arms about herself, and he was alarmed to see the tears falling thickly from her eyes, glistening on her cheeks and running down to her jaw. Her breath hitched lightly in her throat, "I don't _care_ for Rick or anyone else, not like I do you. I...I love you Merle...but this? I just can't do it. Not now. Just go, please."

She turned away so that her back was facing him, and he was aware that his mouth was gaping open in disbelief. He blinked rapidly, swatting at his face with his hand, still feeling the cool touch of her fingers on his cheek, the trail of her fingertips still heating and burning his skin.

He froze, at a complete loss how to react and what to say. What could he fucking say? After that...hell, _nobody_ had ever told him that they loved him. He grimaced, glancing at her again, seeing her head was now downcast and her shoulders were moving ever so damn slightly and he wasn't a complete unfeeling idiot to know that she was crying again, and he was the cause of it-and she was trying her damnedest not to show him.

He swallowed tightly, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. He wanted to tell her then that she was nothing more than a stupid dumb bitch for saying shit like that- his God forsaken miserable hide wasn't worth loving, not by her. He'd never expected anything like that off anyone. He didn't deserve it. He opened his mouth to retort back, but instead he shook his head in amazement as he watched her, clamping his mouth firmly shut. He found that he didn't have anything to say to her-he didn't know _what_ to say.

So he did the next best thing, the only thing he'd ever known how to do right.

He turned and fled.

…

He felt miserable and the more he thought about it, the more he knew that she was right, and that in itself was starting to piss himself off all over again. He_ had_ over-reacted. He couldn't damn well help it. He'd seen the two of them together and had been unable to stop the rage and jealousy as it skewered him. She had offered little reason for Grimes being in their cell, and he hadn't really believed that it was because they were talking. Hell they could have done that any damn where, _why_ did it have to be in their fucking cell.

Merle narrowed his eyes in the faint evening light, his eyes traveling across the courtyard to the watchtower, where he could discern the light from one of the storm lanterns shining palely. Some ass was taking watch- he didn't know who, but he thought it was probably one of those assholes from Woodbury. It wouldn't be Henry, Tyreese or Zach, they had all retired to their rooms early, tired and worn out from the supply run earlier that day.

He paced across the concrete, trying to clear his head and trying his damnedest to calm the hell down. Sighing, he looked up at the sky irritably as the first spatters of rain hit his face, and for a moment he regretted leaving his jacket and his smokes back in his own cell.

The dark shadow of the pig pen loomed up largely before him, and he stepped curiously over to it, hearing the piglets soft little snuffles. He rest his arms on the ramshackle fencing as he peered over, squinting his eyes in the thin light. He raised an eyebrow as he saw the fat mud streaked hog, laying half in and half out on its filthy bedding of straw-its ass end resting in the thick mud.

Something wasn't right with it, and Merle leaned over the fencing more, frowning. The piglets were pathetically trying to suckle from their mother, but the larger pig seemed completely oblivious to them, her side rising slowly up and down. He listened more intently; he could hear its labored breathing under the sounds of the piglets squealing as they jostled each other for milk that they were seemingly not getting.

The rain started to fall more persistently and heavily, already starting to soak through his torn khaki shirt, the fat icy droplets chill on his skin and plastering his hair to his head. Merle grimaced as he pushed himself away from the pig pen, and dragging his feet he headed back off towards the prison, badly wanting to see Carol, but fearing and not knowing what the hell he was supposed to do or say.

He only hoped that he hadn't fucked things up too much, yet again.

…

The smell of freshly brewed coffee hit him as soon as he made his way through the prison wing, and he stopped in surprise as he saw Glenn sat dejectedly at one of the tables, a steaming mug in front of him.

He stared at him for a moment, smirking, then he moved over to the small kitchen and made himself a mug of strong black coffee, wishing that they had some cream and sugar to put in it-but they didn't have any of those types of luxury, so Merle reluctantly took his mug and joined the Asian at the table.

"Why are ya lookin' so damn miserable, Kim?" he asked as he pulled up a chair and sat down, watching the other man humorously.

Glenn looked up and sighed, his fingers curling around his mug of coffee. "Somebody told Maggie what happened at the warehouse," he said grimacing. "I don't know who."

"Went an' got yer ass kicked from out'a yer cell, huh?" Merle smirked.

"You don't have to look so happy about it, Merle," Glenn retorted. "Looks like the same thing happened to you. Thought you were going to see Carol?"

Merle narrowed his eyes, "Maybe I changed my mind. I ain't gotta be going off an' runnin' after no woman," he grunted.

"Yeah," Glenn sighed again. "That's what I thought. You got kicked out too."

Merle looked at him thoughtfully. There wasn't any point arguing any different. Glenn could be a shrewd little fucker when he wanted to. "This, huh...happen much to ya?" he asked.

"What? Maggie acting like this? Kicking me out?"

He took a sip of his coffee, putting it down quickly as the hot liquid seared his lips. He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, "Yeah."

"Not often, but it's happened in the past. Especially after Wood-"

"Glenn, don't ya go an' be bringing that up again," Merle scowled, sitting stiffly in his seat. He wasn't in the mood for Glenn to start on all that shit again.

Glenn blinked quickly, his fingers tightening around his mug. "I wasn't going to," he said quietly. "Just this with Maggie-I told you that she hates me going on supply runs as it is, and now this?" Glenn rubbed at his forehead tiredly.

"Yer a pussy letting yer woman act like that with ya," Merle said, raising his eyebrows. "Ye need to go an' tell her damn straight that ya ain't gonna be putting up with her shit."

Glenn spluttered on his coffee, droplets spraying from out of the corners of his mouth. He looked at Merle in amazement as he quickly wiped at his chin with the cuff of his shirt sleeve. "Do you even practice what you preach, Merle? Because from what I see, you're the one sat here drinking coffee with me."

Merle huffed sourly, "I had things to do."

"Sure you did," Glenn nodded slowly.

Merle glared at him. The Chinaman didn't know shit that was going on. None of this would have happened if it hadn't had been for that shitty Rick Grimes.

He glanced up quickly at the sound of footsteps, his lip curling angrily as he recognized the precise tread of those damned cowboy boots that Rick always wore. He watched as Grimes made his way towards them, Judith clutched tightly in his arms.

"Trying to settle her for the night," Rick said in way of explanation as he sat at a table next to them. His eyes met Merle's and Rick cocked his head to the side, his eyes fixed and watching him warily.

Merle got up and kicked his chair away from him. "I got better things to be doing than sitting here chewing the fat with you bunch'a assholes," he said, scoffing at the quick angry look Rick shot him, "Unless ya wanna make something out'a that too, huh Rick?"

Rick shook his head, "You need to stop this," he said quietly as he jigged the baby on his knee, his hand brushing at her hair. He raised his head and stared unblinkingly at him, "I don't know who the hell you think you are, Merle. But this has to stop. Now."

Merle huffed and shrugged his shoulders, "This will _stop_ when ya quit being such a fuckin' idiot, Rick." He smirked as Rick made to push himself out of his seat, clutching Judith tighter. "But hell. I ain't seeing that's gonna be happening anytime soon."

"Dude," Glenn warned.

He grabbed at his mug of coffee and looked at Glenn, "Keep out'a this Chinaman. It ain't concerning you. Jus' me an' the good fuckin' sheriff." He turned his back on the both of them, pausing and glancing over his shoulder. "There's something wrong with yer pig, Rick. Surprised you ain't been gone and seen-since ya spend most of yer time with the fuckin' thing. Guess yer jus' used to being with yer own damn kind."

Rick looked at him angrily, and was seemingly about to answer him back when Judith grumbled loudly and sighing bitterly, Rick leaned down to her, ignoring Merle for the moment as he nursed the baby. "What's wrong? She was fine this morning," he asked eventually, glancing up at him.

"How the hell would I know? I ain't no damn animal doc. Ya need to get Hershel to look at yer hog," Merle retorted. "Last I heard he was the only goddamn vet in the prison, or ya been gone forgotten that?"

Rick frowned, "I'll see to it in the morning-" he stopped as Judith complained loudly again and he closed his eyes briefly to her shrill squawk of discomfort.

"Look's like yer in for a long night of it, an' I'd say I'd feel bad for ya- but we both know I'd be lying," Merle smiled smugly as he left the cafeteria, clutching the mug in his hand.

…

He stood outside her cell, eyeing the thick blanket at the doorway distrustfully. He couldn't hear no sounds from within, and he had no other way to gauge her mood. He held the mug between his chest and prosthetic arm as he awkwardly pushed aside the blanket, nearly dropping and spilling the contents over himself as he stepped in. From the look on her face, her mood hadn't changed much since he'd last seen her.

"Merle," she glowered, "What are you doing here? I thought I told you-"

"I know what ye told me, but I weren't about to go an' listen to you," he grunted as he stepped inside, grabbing at the mug with his hand as he let the blanket drape shut behind him. "I went an' got ya a coffee," he smiled, his eyes narrowing as she just glared back at him.

"I don't want any damn coffee," she said tightly.

He moved across the cell, placing the mug on the night-stand, thinking how ungrateful she was being-he was sharing his damn drink with her after all. He looked back at her-she hadn't moved much since earlier, only difference now was she was curled up leaning with her back to the wall, a blanket pulled loosely over her.

"Move yer ass," he rasped as he sat on the bunk next to her, stiffening and waiting for her to tell him to move and get the hell out of the cell. When she didn't, he let himself marginally relax and started tugging at the laces of his boots.

"Why is there only half a cup?" she asked suddenly, glancing at the mug that he'd brought with him. "I thought you said you'd got me a coffee?"

"An' I thought ya said ye didn't fuckin' want any. Quit it woman," he scowled. He kicked his boots off, and moved up the bunk, nudging her with his arm and ignoring the fact that she still seemed to be bristling with annoyance from earlier. "If ya don't want it, jus' give it back."

She reached across and took the mug from the night-stand, looking at him and raising it to her mouth. She took a long swig from it, her eyes watching him brightly through a sudden rise of steam, and Merle found himself leaning forward a little and watching in fascination as she lowered the mug and wiped at her lips with her fingers.

She looked at him and shook her head, and he could see the little smile she was trying to fight. She passed the mug back to him, and he nearly dropped it as her fingers brushed softly against his, tingling his skin pleasantly. "I missed you," he growled suddenly.

Carol sighed, the frown back on her face, "You have a strange way of showing it, Merle."

He huffed as he drank the coffee, the bitter tang almost refreshing on his tongue. He looked at her and smirked as he placed the mug on the floor- he could think of other things alot more refreshing on his tongue than damn stupid coffee. He leaned across and grabbed at her arm, pulling her to him, scowling at her as she resisted.

"I'm still upset with you," she warned.

"What's fuckin' new?" he grunted in answer.

She sighed again as she leaned into him, and he wrapped his arm around her as she laid her head on his shoulder, his fingers smoothing across her arm. He kissed the top of her head, moving away slightly as she glanced up at him, and he grimaced at the sight of unexpected tears misting the blues of her eyes. She raised her hand and stroked his cheek with her fingertips, leaning up to press a kiss to his lips. His hand tightened on her as he moved his mouth softly over hers, pulling her more firmly to him as he touched at her lips with his tongue, frowning as she placed her hand on his chest and pushed him back.

"Rick didn't do anything wrong, Merle. I don't know why you had to act like you did with him."

"Have we really gotta go an' talk about that asshole, huh? There's a lot more things you can be doing with that pretty little mouth of yours than talking about _him_," Merle said petulantly. Fucking Rick Grimes. Seemed like the asshole was determined to ruin things, even when he wasn't damn well there.

Carol raised her eyebrows, "Yes, Merle" she said quietly, resting her head to his chest, "We _do_ have to talk about that."

He curled his arm around her and leaned his back further to the wall. "I don't want to. I'd rather we were doing other things that ain't got no need for any damn talking."

"Merle," she said softly.

"What?" he rasped. "I'm only saying how I'm seeing it, darlin'. Ya know ya want me." To be truthful, he was surprised how things were turning out. He'd really expected her to just kick his ass out, and now that she hadn't-he was wondering just how far he could push things and what exactly he could get away with.

"Maybe," she admitted reluctantly. "Merle, Rick knows about the lessons, the knives... everything. Carl told him."

"Ah fuck," Merle said in surprise, "What the hell did he say?"

"To be honest, I was surprised by how well he took things. He accepted it, which makes me think," she frowned against him. "I don't know if I trust him."

"I ain't never trusted him," he said tightly. He glanced down at her, "Is that what you were discussing, when I walked in on the both of ya?"

"You didn't walk in on anything. Jesus. That earlier? I don't know what the hell you were thinking, but you were so damn wrong."

"I weren't to know," he scowled.

"You need to trust me. I care for you, Merle," she said, pushing away from him again and ignoring the pissed expression on his face.

He twisted his head away from her bright earnest gaze, staring at the far wall. "I ain't never had anyone care for me like ya do," he admitted reluctantly. "An' I'll be honest with ya mouse. It scares me, alright?" The words soured his mouth, but he knew that he had to tell her, even though he wasn't used to sharing stuff like this with no woman. It hadn't ever happened before, and he didn't think he could ever go through it all over again.

"I went through enough of that crap with Ed. The anger, the hurt, the jealousies... I won't make the same mistake twice."

He turned his head sharply at that, staring at her, "I ain't him," he spat out. "I keep tellin' ya that I would never hurt ya, an' I wouldn't darlin'."

She met his gaze firmly, "Then we both need to start learning to trust each other."

Merle watched her, she was right. Again. They'd both been through enough shit, that it was no wonder that they were like they were. Damaged. But he badly wanted to learn and to trust her- she compelled him in a way that nobody else ever did. He knew that he cared for her as much as she seemed to care for him, which constantly surprised him, and he knew that he loved her, for the first time in his life he knew what it felt like-but he could never tell her that he did. It just wasn't who he was.

He stiffened in wonder as she reached out to him, her hands clasping about his prosthetic and pulling him closer. He looked at her, frowning, but she didn't meet his gaze, instead she ran her fingers up his prosthetic, her fingertips trailing against his skin, before she started unbuckling the leather straps. He wanted to flinch away from her-what she was doing was starting to make him feel damned uncomfortable, but he knew that he had to start trusting her sometime.

She smiled softly at him as the last buckle was undone, and she looked at him in question, waiting for him to say something before she slid the prosthetic away and from off his stumped arm. She had seen him without it more times than he could think, but something about this made him feel more vulnerable than usual. Her hand grasped at his skin, her fingers flexing over to where his wrist should have been, and he swallowed quickly as she raised his arm and pressed her lips softly to his skin.

It always seemed that she confounded him-just when he'd thought he'd got her all figured out she would go and do something that he didn't expect-and this was one of the those moments. She clasped his stumped arm in her hands, holding it loosely in her lap and looking up at him with those pretty blue eyes of hers.

He wished that he could tell her just how much he damn well cared for her, but even as he tried, the words clumped thickly in his throat. Instead, he moved against her, wrapping his stump around her waist and cupping her head with his hand.

He took a deep breath, "I want to trust ya, okay? An' I'll try honey. I'll try with ya. I don't want to lose you, not now, not anytime." He risked a quick glance at her, wondering if she was just going to laugh at him for being a pussy, feeling surprised when she only gave him a small soft smile. She leaned into him, her hands pushing against his shirt.

"Merle? Why is your shirt wet?" she frowned. "You need to take it off. You're going to catch a chill."

"Huh. Any excuse to get me to take my damn clothes off. Ya ain't got to try an' be so sneaky about it darlin', ya know I'm gonna let ya," he smirked.

She blushed a little at that, and Merle mused to himself, that no matter how embarrassed she seemed over that, she was still trying to tug his shirt off. And no way in hell was he about to go and stop her either.

She dropped his wet shirt to the floor and slipped her arms around his neck as he inched closer to her, pressing his face to the softness of her throat. Her fingers grazed across the nape of his neck, her fingertips trailing through his hair. He kissed her throat, trailing his tongue across her jaw until he found her mouth and he smiled against her as she kissed him back with a passion that was equal to the fire that was building up and speeding through his veins.

As he lowered her to the mattress, his body firm and hard against hers, pressing against her and letting her know how badly he wanted and ached for her, desperately wanting to prove that even though he could never say those few pitiful words-that he did love her. And he would show her just how much. He knew that the chance of either of them getting much sleep that night was going to be remote-he had missed her too much and he didn't give a single damn if any of this made him a pussy.

He wanted her, and she wanted him and that was all he damn well cared about.

...


	47. Chapter 47

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.**

_a/n: I'd just like to thank everyone for the reviews and for reading this fanfic, as always it means a great deal to me._

* * *

_..._

Merle crooked his arms under the pillow, cushioning his head as he lay on the bunk, the blanket half covering him. He stared at the upper bars of the cell, sighing under his breath as the pale morning light streamed through. He twisted his head to the side, narrowing his eyes in annoyance. Carol was doing her damn best to try and ignore him, and he watched in disappointment as she got dressed. He couldn't see any reason why they couldn't stay in bed just a little bit longer-it was still early morning, but she had gone and told him that she had promised Rick that she would look after Judith for a few hours. The damn man had it easy-always someone to go and look after his kid, while he went and did fuck only knows what Rick Grimes always did.

"Ain't there nobody else that can have her?" he grunted as she pulled her shirt on, sourly noticing that the woman had gotten dressed way too quickly.

She looked at him and smiled, grabbing at his clothes and dropping them next to him on the bunk. "No, there isn't Merle. Now come on-get dressed. You can help me if you want, after." She raised an eyebrow at him and pursed her lips expectantly, waiting for him to complain.

"You can come an' help _me_, if ya want mouse," he smirked, pushing back the blanket and slowly sitting up. He liked how she smiled at him in embarrassment, at the way her cheeks flared suddenly pink.

"You're a grown man, I think you can look after yourself," she replied, looking away from him and sitting on the bunk. She leaned down and started to tug her boots on.

He kept his back carefully away from her and pulled his wife-beater on. "I'd much prefer you did," he smiled innocently.

"Shut up and get dressed," Carol glanced at him and smirked, pushing the pile of clothing towards him. "You promised Tyreese and Karen you would help them at the fences."

"Ah hell. I did," he grumbled, looking up at her and frowning as she slid off the bunk, fully clothed. She reached across to her night-stand and took her knife, fastening it to her belt. "Ya sure you don't wanna keep me company jus' a lil longer, huh? I reckon they ain't gonna mind. You can give me a damn good reason for being late, if you want. Bed's still warm, if ya wanna jump right back in here with me," he leered.

She shook her head and then relented at the look he gave her, and she stepped over to him, placing her hands on his shoulders. "They might wait, but I'm sure Judith wont. And I don't want her to wake up the rest of the prison."

He slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her nearer, pressing his forehead to her chest. "I don't give a fuck about the rest of 'em in the prison," he mumbled. "It's Rick's kid-hell let her scream her damn lungs out, let him be answerable to summat for a damn change."

"Merle, stop it," she warned, ruffling her hands through his hair. She glanced down at him and sighed, "Your hair has grown so much. I didn't realize it was so curly. Daryl's isn't-"

Merle huffed, the sound slightly muffled. He was enjoying being all pressed up against her, and he wondered if he slipped his hand down to her ass and let his true intentions be known-would she be so eager to go and run off to look after Judith. "I follow after the ole man in my damn looks," he admitted reluctantly. "Only glad I ain't like that bastard in other ways. Daryl always followed our momma. He got that sweet little disposition of his from her too. Lucky him, huh."

"You don't talk much about them-your parents, your childhood," she asked softly, cupping her hand to the back of his head, her fingers pushing through his hair and scratching at his scalp.

He froze against her, closing his eyes and trying his damnedest to forget. "Ain't much to say, honey," he said tightly. "They were...the both of 'em...fuck. They weren't ever parents to us. Never. I about went and raised that boy myself. They weren't nothin' more than a bunch'a cruel hard assed drunks. The ole man-he liked to use his fists and anything else that came to hand, and her-well damn it- she weren't much better," he trailed off.

"Merle, I'm sorry," Carol said softly, leaning away from him as he shifted against her.

"Ya ain't got anything to be sorry about, mouse," he said, looking up at her. He tried not to flinch as she leaned down and pressed her lips to his forehead, and she frowned at him in concern, smoothing her hand softly over his head. "I don't want to talk about that shit no more. I'll tell ya someday, but not now."

Carol watched him for a moment, her fingertips brushing lightly through his hair, "Okay," she sighed as she offered him a small smile.

Merle found that was another thing that he liked about her. If he didn't want to talk about shit-she would never pressure him into spilling his guts. She would let him alone. He wondered if there were many other women like that, that knew when to keep their mouths shut when told. He had to admit to himself- she was something special, and he was a lucky bastard to have her in his life.

"What?" she asked, watching him and seeing with some surprise the soft warm look that drifted into his eyes.

"Ain't nothing," he shrugged nonchalantly, starting to feel embarrassed and stupid as he felt his cheeks start to warm. _Damn woman._

"Hmm," she answered, leaning down to kiss him before stepping back. "I really have to go and get Judith. Rick said he wanted to go out alone for a few hours, he's probably waiting."

"What ya mean, go out alone? Ya gonna tell me he's leavin' those damn hogs and his precious weeds? Well fuck," he said, a slow lazy smile pulling at his mouth.

"Be nice," Carol said as she moved towards the entrance of the cell. She paused, one hand grasping at the blanket covering the doorway, before tugging it open wide enough for her to slip through. She glanced over her shoulder and smirked at him. "By the way? Your hair? You should let it grow. It's cute, Merle."

"The fuck?" he rasped out quickly as he watched the blanket drape shut behind her. "Ain't nothing cute about me, woman," he called out, narrowing as his eyes as he heard her small laugh. He pushed himself off the bunk to pull his pants on, stopping and running his hand through his hair as he stared at the entrance of the cell.

The first goddamn opportunity he got, he'd shave the lot off.

…

One of the first things that he was aware of as he walked out across the courtyard was the fact that it wasn't fucking raining. Secondly, the sun was out and as he glanced up at the sky, he saw that there wasn't so much as a single dark raincloud in the abrupt blue of the sky, and he mused to himself that maybe the awful shitty weather they'd had recently was finally about to break. Thirdly; as he lowered his gaze, he saw Glenn leaning dejectedly against one of the grey grimed prison walls, the outlines of chalked flowers and smiling stick people incongruously at odds with the austere severity of the natural nature of the place.

He made to walk past the Asian, not sure whether to speak, or not. He still wasn't sure of Glenn's reaction to him, and as he saw Glenn looking back, he saw the same thing mirrored in the younger mans face.

"Huh, Glenn," he nodded, stopping as Glenn looked across at him. Merle saw with some amusement the dark tired smudges under his eyes. "Didn't ya get much sleep last night?" he asked, wondering if he'd managed to worm his way back in with Maggie. That lil farmers girl sure had the makings of a damn fine hellcat.

"No," Glenn answered tersely. "She's still mad at me."

"An' ya didn't take my advice?"

Glenn scoffed loudly, "Yeah sure Merle. Like that would work."

Merle rubbed at the straps of his prosthetic, wondering if he had tightened them too much-it felt like the leather was rubbing and pinching at his skin more than usual. "Whatever. It worked for me," he lied.

Glenn looked at him in surprise, "Really?" He scratched at his head tiredly, his hand falling to his side as he sighed, "Why am I even asking that."

"You ain't gonna know if ya ain't prepared to go an' try, Glenn," he shrugged, smiling slowly. "Ya didn't see me all alone an' crying to myself last night, did ya boy? I'm tellin' you straight. Bitch-I mean...huh _women_, like it if ya go an' put 'em in their place. Go an' grow some man balls an' tell yer woman how it really is."

"You're telling me...that you...and that it _worked_?" Glenn asked, staring at him in disbelief.

Merle bit back the smirk that threatened to crease his face. Instead he raised his eyebrows, "Ya heard me the first damn time, Glenn. I weren't the one sleeping alone last night. Now, if ya ain't minding? I got shit to do." He stared at Glenn for a moment longer, before pacing quickly away and heading off down towards the outer fences. Damn fool kid if he were to go and try shit like that with Maggie, he thought chuckling to himself.

...

The sounds of the biters intensified as he got closer, and he looked in wonder at the fences, seeing with concern how they trembled under the weight of the biters that were congregating there. He shook his head as he stared-something wasn't right about how they were massing into groups at several places along the fence line, not spread out evenly as they had done in the past. He didn't understand what could be drawing them there, he just knew that something was, but he was damned if he knew what exactly. He hadn't seen anything like this before-not even when he'd been at Woodbury.

Tyreese wiped at the sweat beading at his brow with one dirty grimed arm, his eyes wide and unblinking. He nodded as Merle came over to him, his eyes sweeping past to stare back at the biters. "I don't think you can ever get used to this. To them," he grimaced. He lowered his head, his breath panting a little. "No matter how I try, I ain't ever gonna get used to this."

"Ya gotta get over that shit, Tyreese," Merle grunted as he pushed past him. He prodded one biter cleanly through the eye socket, stepping back a pace as the body slumped heavily against the chain links. "Hell," he spat. "Look at 'em fuckers."

Tyreese ignored him as he let the tire iron droop in his hands, and Merle noticed with disdain that the big man had a silly assed expression smeared all over his face. He narrowed his eyes as he glanced over his shoulder, seeing what had caught the other mans gaze. Karen ambled over towards them, a dirty apron covering her chest and the tops of her thighs.

"Say beautiful. Was wondering when you were gonna join us," Tyreese smiled.

"I told you I would. Some hot date you chose to take me on," she smiled back at him.

"Not exactly the date I had in mind, but if you care to join me later-"

Merle rolled his eyes. He'd heard enough. Damn stupid love struck fools. The sight of them was making the gorge rise in his throat.

He swiveled his head sharply at the thick rasping groan of one of the biters, and he looked at it curiously as he inched closer to it. Taking a long hard look at it, he realized that this one was different to the other biters, and what made this one different to the others around it was the fact that its ruined eyes were prominent and heavily bloodied, thick dried tracks of crimson staining its filthy face. He prodded at it warily with his prosthetic, the blade pricking at its chest. Glancing over his shoulders at Tyreese, he wondered if any of them could see the same damn thing that he was seeing-and he frowned as he realized that none of them had seemed to notice anything unusual.

Tyreese was working alongside Karen, jabbing at the biters with quick sharp thrusts, felling them quickly. Beyond them he saw Henry, and Henry caught his eye and smiled briefly, before turning his attention back to the fences. Further along the fence line he saw Chloe and a man he wasn't quite sure of, all he knew was that the mans name was David, and he'd come to the prison recently in a different group-and was now one of the newer inmates to the prison.

Merle glanced back at the fences, pausing when he saw that the biter with the bloodied eyes and face had fallen back into the throng. He shook his head, dismissing it as he plunged his blade repeatedly through the masses that surged. The bodies were slowly building up, and he swiped at his forehead with his arm as he stepped back. He felt sweaty and dirty, and he longed to be away from the overpowering stench of fetid death, and back in the prison where he could hopefully grab a few minutes to have a cool shower. And if he'd had his way-a certain woman to join him in the shower rooms to help scrub his back and other hard to reach places. He smirked at the thought. That would suit him damn fine- if only she'd get rid of the kids that were always hanging around her ass.

"Is that Michonne?"

He raised his head and stared at the main gates, half listening as Tyreese mumbled an answer back to Karen.

"I'm gonna take a break," he grunted to them, wiping the blade of his prosthetic against the thigh of his pants. He felt half guilty at that-knowing that the woman he wanted to come and help him in the showers was the same one that would by all probability be doing his laundry later that day.

"All right, brother," Tyreese nodded, and Merle couldn't help himself as he stiffened and bristled at the big niggers words. He knew damn well that he had to get over this shit-he wasn't going to do himself any favors with his attitude, but he found it so hard to shrug off his habits of old. He was trying though. It was just all this turning over a new leaf shit was so fucking hard to cope with at times.

He didn't bother to answer Tyreese, he only grunted at him in reply as he strode off to the main gates, scowling as he saw Carl trying to tug the rope levers by himself. He hastened across, grabbing at one of the pulleys, nodding to Carl as they tugged the rusted metal gates open together.

Michonne staggered in, and Merle let go off the rope, wondering why the hell she was on foot and where the fucking hell was the car. He didn't have too much time to think on it, as he heard Maggie's shrill yelp of fear from the watchtower, and he watched as Carl ran like a demon was on his ass.

Michonne wasn't alone. There were at least five biters with her, and he watched in dismay as she limped in, one of the biters grabbing at her with its withered hand, clawing at her shoulder. She twisted under its grip, her feet tangling in the trip wires, and she landed heavily on her back, her face twisting in pain. He moved quickly, thrusting his prosthetic at the biters that surged behind her, dropping them to the ground in dull muffled thumps.

"Carl!" he yelled out, the sound of his voice drowning out in the sudden sharp ricochet of a rifle being fired. He glanced up in surprise, seeing with some pride that wasn't really his to feel-Carl was stood knee deep in the long grass, a rifle in his arms, the wooden butt pressed to his cheek, his eye squinted. The body of the biter tumbled to the ground, and he looked as Maggie descended from the tower quickly, her boots slapping at the worn concrete.

Pulling back his prosthetic, he shrugged off the impaled biter, kicking it away from him with his boot. He raced across to where Michonne lay on the ground just as Maggie reached her. The Greene woman's eyes were filled with shock.

"Shut the fuckin' gate," he called out again, looking at Maggie briefly as she stared at him in surprise, then she ran off and helped close the gate with Carl. Merle had to admire the kid. Rick fucking Grimes didn't appreciate just what a goddamned asset his son was.

Michonne had pushed the biters body from off her and was sitting up in the long grass, her breath wheezing in her throat. Merle extended his hand to her, and she grasped it tightly, using his weight to help push herself to her feet.

"What the hell happened out there?" he asked brusquely, watching as she got to her feet shakily, her gloved hands rubbing and wiping at her thighs.

"Macon...was a bust-I never even made it there," she replied breathlessly. She raised an eyebrow, and shook her head, her dreadlocks tumbling around her shoulders. "I couldn't find him. I'm sorry. I tried, but your brother was right. There isn't any point no more. The trail's cold."

"Shit Michonne, hell...that ain't no goddamn worry," he said thickly. "But ya wanna tell me why the hell you were on foot?"

Maggie came across and draped her arm around Michonne's shoulders, bearing the other woman's weight and he watched as the dark skinned woman shifted to one foot, grimacing. "This isn't the time or place right now Merle," Maggie said softly. "We need to get her back to the prison-"

"Yeah, you're right," Merle agreed, listening to the frenzied sounds of the biters coming from the fences behind him.

"I'm fine. No harm done," Michonne grunted, and Merle weren't no fool to see that the woman was in pain.

"Let us be the judge of that, Michonne," Maggie answered. "Ya need to let daddy...or Dr. S take a look at your ankle."

Michonne laughed shallowly, "And I'm telling you that I'm fine. I'm good. I don't need no fussing-"

Merle was aware that Carl was stood just behind them, shouldering the rifle across his shoulder warily. The kid was thumbing the strap of the gun guiltily.

"I did what I had to," Carl said stubbornly as he looked up at Merle, his blue eyes blazing defiantly.

"Ain't none gonna blame ya for what ya did there, Carl," Merle said as he tore his eyes away from the two women.

"But...my dad-"

"Never mind yer dad. I'm telling you that ya did damn fine, and I don't give a shit what yer dad says about you using a gun, or not. You saved her. Michonne. You should be proud of yerself boy."

Carl frowned a little, "I only hope my dad sees it that way."

Merle smiled, "If it helps yer case kid, I'll put in a good word for ya. Don't you go an' be feeling guilty for what ya did. I told ya before-yer a damn fine shot, and if you weren't? What do you think what have happened to Michonne, huh?"

Carl looked at him, and a small smile touched at his mouth. The kid sighed a little, "You're right. I erm...I guess I should," he gestured behind him. "Take watch."

"I'd be glad if ya did," Merle replied. "Ain't too many I trust to go an' cover our asses, but you Carl? Don't ya go an' prove me wrong."

Carl nodded, his hair falling into his eyes and he raised his hand abruptly, brushing his fringe away. "I won't prove anyone wrong."

Merle watched as Carl headed off back towards the tower, and sighed. Maggie had taken Michonne back to C-block, and as he looked at the large prison buildings, he saw Carol rushing down towards the gates, her face a mask of confusion. He glanced once more in Carl's direction, before stepping quickly to met her.

"What happened? Merle? I heard a gunshot," she questioned worriedly.

He shook his head, "It's alright darlin'. Nothing to worry yer head about. Michonne is back...but hell, I ain't knowing exactly what happened to her," he said frowning.

"But is she all right?" she asked quickly.

Merle moved closer to her, his heart twisting at the concern in her face. She always cared too damn much for everyone else, and never enough about herself. "She's gonna be jus' fine," he said softly.

"And you?" she questioned, looking up at him.

Merle chuckled, "I'm a Dixon, what the hell do you expect? If it makes ya feel any better, you can go an' run yer hands all over me later, ya know-check for any lil bites, or scratches-"

"Just stop it Merle. I worry about you, and all you can do is joke about it?"

He widened his eyes in surprise at the sudden frustration that seemed to tinge her voice. "Hell darlin', I weren't meaning nothing by that."

"I could just about cope with all of this before, but now Merle? If I lost you, I don't think that I could," she said quietly, turning away from him stiffly and walking back up the pathway that led to the prison wing.

Merle gaped at her. He suddenly felt like an asshole for joking, but what the hell- he couldn't damn well help it. He grit his teeth and chased after her, watching as she looked at him. "Huh, maybe I might jus' feel the same way, Carol," he admitted, glancing away from her warily and scowling.

"Then stop being such an ass," she said smiling as she slipped her hand into his.

He tightened his fingers around hers and sighed. "C'mon little mouse, let's go an' see what the hell happened to Michonne," he answered, pulling her along with him. He held her hand as they walked up to C-block, and he thought with some irony that it wasn't long ago that he'd told her that he'd never do that kind of shit, and especially if any of the others were around. But now he found to his confusion that he didn't really give a flying fuck as to who the hell was watching anymore.

...


	48. Chapter 48

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.**

_a/n: Oh my goodness-this chapter. Whenever I write a chapter, I always have several points that I touch on, notes that I've made etc. But as I started to write the later piece of this one...it took off on a mind of its own. Merle's words just flowed out so precisely, it was all I could do to keep up with the muse and type them out. I debated for a while whether to leave 'his' section in, after all, this particular chapter was supposed to be Carol's. But I decided to leave it in, and it took me quite a few long fraught hours dragging it back away from Merle's piece, and trying to end the chapter on a more softer, happier note. _

_As always, I'd really like to say a huge thank you to those that have left reviews, and to those that are with me in this story. _

* * *

...

Carol untangled her fingers from his hand and pulled away as they neared the door that led to C-block, stopping and frowning as Merle glowered at her. She raised her eyebrows mildly in surprise before turning her back to him and pulling the door open. She didn't want him to feel ashamed or embarrassed in front of any of the others- and she knew that once they were back inside, there would be somebody around, there always was. And she wasn't quite ready herself for the curious glances that she knew the two of them attracted.

She supposed that they made an unusual couple, and she bit back a smile as he followed silently behind her, his face pulled down into that ever persistent scowl. The face that he showed to everyone else and the one that she saw in private when it was nothing but the two of them alone in her cell were at complete odds with each other-and she wished that at times he'd at least let his guard down, even if it was just a little-then maybe the others could understand what it was exactly that drew her to him. He didn't seem to want to do himself any favors though, and most seemed to view him with suspicion or a wary reluctance, and she knew all to well that it had been like that for his brother once, what now seemed such a long time ago.

"Do you think he's okay?" she asked, glancing at him. "Out there, on his own."

Merle looked at her in confusion, his eyes squinting in the light filtering through the large barred prison windows and then he nodded slowly in understanding, "Yeah. Don't ya go worrying yer head. Little brother will be jus' fine. Told ya before-if anyone can look after themselves out there, it's him."

"I miss him Merle," she said softly. "I just want him safely back home with us."

He stepped a little closer to her, reaching out and touching at her shoulder briefly before pulling his hand back to scratch at his chin. "Me too, mouse. Me too."

Her heart tugged at the swift look of concern mirrored in his smoky blue eyes, the way his forehead crinkled thoughtfully, and she couldn't help but softly smile at him then, her amusement suddenly rising as he stared back at her, his eyes widening and his brows shooting upwards almost comically. "What?" he growled suspiciously.

She shook her head as they walked through the prison wing, "Nothing."

"Oh sure," he grumbled loudly. "Like it ain't nothin' when yer lookin' at me like that. What the hell did I do now?"

She was about to answer, when she heard the abrupt sound of raised voices, and she hurriedly stepped backwards a pace, tugging at his arm and pulling him with her, looking at him curiously.

Merle stared at her for a moment, his eyes narrowing, "What the-"

She shook her head again, ignoring him and listening more closely. Merle pushed against her, slapping her back to the wall and leaning close, and she tried to fight back the sudden bout of rising panic at his close proximity; the way he had her pinned to the wall. She tried to push him away-one hand pressing to his chest and he glanced down at her mildly in annoyance-the frown softening on his face and easing away as he realized what he had done, and he moved away from her, giving her some space as he pressed his finger gently to her lips, shushing her.

"You just can't make decisions like that on your own, Rick. We have the Council for that," Hershel said tightly.

Rick sighed, the sound long drawn out and audible to them both, and Carol glanced at Merle quickly as she grasped at his arm, watching as he chewed the inside of his lip thoughtfully. He dropped his finger from her mouth, pressing his hand softly to her shoulder, his head turning and following the sound of the voices.

"Something needed to be done. What if your daughters were next. Maggie? Beth? What would you have me do Hershel? We can't take the risk anymore-you saw what happened to Carol. I did what I had to-like I always do."

"Nobody asked you to do this. You've taken this upon yourself-"

"This isn't a democracy anymore, Hershel," Rick hissed quickly. "The Council were taking too long to come to a decision. I stand by what I have done."

Hershel shifted on his feet, his crutches softly scuffing the ground. "I know you Rick. I know what you are capable of."

"I didn't do anything. I left him out there. I _gave_ him supplies-"

"He isn't well. He's injured."

Rick laughed, the sound flat and devoid of humor. "And that..._t__hat_ he brought on himself. I'm not going to discuss this anymore Hershel. It's done."

The dull thump of boots on the concrete floor echoed heavily towards them, and Carol tightened her hand on Merle's arm.

"Rick," Hershel called out quickly, "Rick! Come back here, son."

"I've got to go. I need to clear my head."

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going out there, Hershel. I've got things...I need to do," Rick answered brusquely.

Carol stared at Merle. She didn't know what Rick had done, but she suddenly felt afraid. Afraid of what Rick had done exactly. Like Hershel-she knew what he was capable of. She still remembered Randall, Shane and what had happened back at the Greene farm. Nobody dared mention it, and especially within ear shot of Rick, but it was common knowledge within the original members of the group.

"What the hell has that asshole gone an' done now?" Merle questioned, his voice low and rasping.

"I don't know," Carol breathed out slowly.

Merle edged away from her, and she grabbed at his arm quickly, pulling him back at the sound of boots clicking sharply. Merle froze, and they watched as Rick walked around the corner towards them.

He stopped, his hand hovering at his belt, and Carol saw with some surprise that his Python was holstered at his waist, his fingers touching at the smooth wooden butt of the gun. Rick looked at her sharply, his eyes moving from her to stare at Merle. His head inclined to the side as he watched them unblinkingly, and then he nodded curtly in greeting, his eyes blazing as they dragged away from Merle to stare at her again.

His hand flexed over his gun, before moving away, and he dug his fingers into his belt. His mouth opened as if he was going to say something, and Carol watched him warily, dreading and fearing what he was going to say, but he clamped his mouth shut and shook his head instead.

Tearing his eyes from the both of them, Rick didn't give either of them a second thought as he strode towards the exit, pushing the door open with the flat of his hand-the sudden sharp loud squealing of rusted unoiled hinges loud in the room, the bright sunlight flooding in and leaving him nothing but a dark shadow in its wake.

Merle glanced at Carol quickly as the door slammed shut. "What the hell has gotten into Captain fuckin' A-hole, huh?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow at the doorway.

"I dread to think," she answered.

He grunted irritably, "Well, I ain't giving a shit about that fuckwad sheriff. C'mon darlin', I gotta know what the hell happened to Michonne."

She glanced once more towards the entrance, before sighing and following after Merle as he turned the corner that Hershel and Rick had so quickly vacated. She kept her eyes fixed firmly on his broad shouldered back, noticing that he'd ripped and torn yet another shirt-and she made a mental note to herself that when she found the time, she would sew and repair it the best that she could. He was just like his brother. He was wearing his way quickly through the limited amount of clothing that he had, just like Daryl, and she smiled softly to herself, knowing all to well that he would be annoyed with her for worrying over what he'd consider trivial shit. But if she didn't worry over him and his brother, then she didn't know who the hell else would-and she didn't begrudge either of them that one little bit.

The sound of soft whimpering sobbing reached to them, and she nearly bumped into Merle as he stopped abruptly, a look of pained embarrassment flushing his cheeks as he looked over his shoulder at her.

She stepped past him, stopping when he grabbed at her arm, his fingers digging into her wrist. He shook his head as he looked at her, and she stared past him, her heart aching and twisting in her chest.

Michonne was sat on the floor of her cell, her ankle wrapped in a clean white bandage and held out stiffly before her, Judith sat on her lap. Michonne's arms were wrapped around the young child, her face pressed to the side of Judith's head, hot tears trickling thickly down her cheek.

Carol swallowed quickly as she looked at Merle, and she felt tears of her own spring to her eyes. She knew of that sound, of those tears. She had cried them so many times herself. She still did. It was the sound of grief, of another woman's pain and loss of a beloved child.

"Merle, please," she said quietly, the sound of her heart jumping and yammering thickly in her ears.

"I'm hearing ya sweetheart," he said softly, his fingers loosening their tight grip from around her wrist. He looked at her in simple understanding- unspoken concern and sympathy etched into his face. His fingers caught at her hand, entwining with hers and she gripped his tightly, not really caring if anyone saw them right now. She let him propel herself forward, her feet numbly following after him, her heart aching and her mind wondering over what loss Michonne had faced and braved so resolutely, and quietly with dignity.

…

They moved through D-block silently, lost in their own individual thoughts. Merle loosened his hand from hers as he stepped towards the cells, his breath rasping tightly in his throat.

"Well...I'll be God fuckin' damned," he hissed in wonder.

"What is it?" she asked, although as soon as she turned her head, she saw...and she knew.

Scott's cell was empty. Devoid of anything. Sterile almost, as if he'd been purged from the present and from all memory. There wasn't a single sign left to show that he'd even been at the prison.

"Guess that officer not so fuckin' friendly sorted the fuck out'a that shit," Merle grunted as he glanced at her. "Ya know...if I had the use of two hands...I'd be tempted to shake Rick's hand. For what he's been gone an' done here. Only I'd be worried that bastard would try an' handcuff me again. Ya know...make me a total fuckin' useless cripple," he spat out bitterly.

She looked at him in sudden surprise, his words burning through her. Her heart twisted in her chest again, and she angrily thought that Rick had no damn idea what he had done back there in Atlanta when he had handcuffed Merle to that rooftop. Rick didn't have a clue as to how much it affected Merle every single waking hour. It hadn't happened to him, so what the hell did he know? Merle might have lost his hand-and outwardly he seemed to cope well enough, but she knew differently. She'd seen his anger, his self-loathing and frustration at not being able to do the most simplest of things that everyone else took for granted.

"Merle," she said, watching as he twisted his head to stare at her, his hand grasping at the bars of the cell.

"It ain't you, mouse," he said softly. "It ain't ever been you, or my brother. Yer...yer both my family, right?" he asked hesitantly, and she swallowed quickly at the fear that shined brightly in his eyes.

She sighed quietly, looking at the vacant cell. She wondered where Scott was, and what Rick had done, but as much as she felt the dread and uncertainty prickle at her-she knew that right now was not the time to feel sorry for herself.

"Yes," she answered simply, moving towards him. He looked at her, then glanced away quickly, his eyes downcast, and Carol remembered a time-not long before he went out and tried to take down the Governor on his own. He had looked at her just the same way that he was doing right now. She felt tears sting hotly behind her eyelids and she blinked, trying to ignore them, even as the tears tumbled down her cheeks unwillingly.

"Ain't wanting ya to be sorry for me, Carol," Merle rasped, frowning and sighing. "I ain't meaning shit by this. Hell," he spat.

"It's okay," she soothed. "I know you Merle, and I know you don't-"

"You think yer so damn sure, don't ya huh?" he hissed suddenly, his face flushing red. "What do you fuckin' know? Ya know nothing."

Carol knew that he was hurting, even though she felt confused by his quick and sudden anger. She watched him hesitantly, knowing that he would resort to anger and hurtful words to try to push her from him. But she had been through too much with him, and she cared too damn much for him to let him try to push her away.

She sighed warily, not fearing him- but fearing his reaction. He needed her as much as he didn't...or wouldn't want to admit. Especially right now. He'd made such good progress with the prison group as a whole, and she was damned if she'd see him slip.

"They left me. Ya wanna know how long it took me to grab at that saw, huh? That fuckin' toolbox that Mr high and mighty yo T-dog left. Hours, honey. Fuckin' hours. It was hot an' I thought...I thought they'd come back. I did. But ya know? I didn't beg. Not fuckin' once. An' they never came back for me. They left me...chained like a fuckin' dog. But I didn't break, not once."

None of this was really about Scott, but it was everything to do with Rick. She swiped at her eyes, her heart feeling like it was going to break. But this...whatever he needed to say, she would just let him spill it out and absorb it as much as she possibly could.

"Did ya know-" Merle said slowly, raising his head to look at her, tiredness and pain evident and clouding the dark blue of his eyes. "Did ya know...that the fuckin' saw was blunt? It wouldn't cut through shit, huh?" He shook his head. "I tried, oh my God I fuckin' tried. But it wouldn't cut through nothin'. Not through those damn 'cuffs...not through what Rick chained me to. Too blunt. Ya know, it was an irony...and I'm a big believer on all that shit. That damn saw...the only thing it was good for...was sawing through my own God damned fuckin' wrist," he spat out bitterly.

Carol couldn't bear it any longer and she moved quickly across to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. She pressed her face to his shoulder, the tears that she had tried so desperately to hold back and spare him from slipping down her face and burning her cheeks like an accusation. She knew that he'd carried this with him for so long, and while she wasn't sure what exactly had brought all of this on so suddenly, she would be there for him. She wouldn't leave him. It felt like this was a long time coming, and Merle needed to get it finally off his chest and out into the open.

"I lost count of time. How long it took. It hurt like ya wouldn't fuckin' believe. But what the hell could I do? I was about shit out of options. I heard them...those biters. I hear them now, when I try an' sleep. I see their goddamned fuckin' hands reaching out for me. An' I was shit out'a time. I had no other choice-I _had_ to cut my hand off. I waited for so long. But nobody came for me. Nobody cared two shits for ole Merle, not even my own little brother."

"Merle," she said quietly as she smoothed her hand across his chest, her fingers moving over to where his heart lay. It thudded pitifully against her palm, and she closed her eyes to the hurt as the tears trickled and stung at her cheeks.

"Ya know, it didn't fuckin' end there," Merle shrugged, refusing to look at her. He kept his eyes away, fixed on the far wall. He swallowed thickly, "There was so much blood-hell I didn't think a man could bleed out as much as I did then. I had to stop the bleeding. Had to cauterize that damned fuckin' wound. I...I found a kitchen, an' I had to wait to heat those fuckin' hotplates up. Thank fuck I'm a smoker...'cause I reckon I wouldn't have made it if it weren't for that lighter in my pocket. I heated them hotplates up...and well ya know the rest darlin'. I didn't bleed out so much after all that. Found a van, an' I crawled into it, wishing that the dear God All fuckin' mighty would just end it for me. Once an' for all. But that jackass...he had other ideas for me. The gutless fuckin' pansy."

"Merle," she said softly again, touching at his cheek, and this time he looked at her. He looked at her like she was real, and that she was actually there and not buried in some nightmarish ordeal. His eyes blazed dully, and she hated to see the utter defeat and weariness in his face.

"Mouse," he rasped quietly.

"You're not alone, Merle. What you went through-nobody should have ever had to have gone through that. But you're not alone anymore. I'm here."

He exhaled sharply, "I don't know nothin' no more...mouse...Carol?" he said thickly. "I want to believe ya, I really do, but I don't-"

She silenced him with a brief kiss, leaning back from him and raising her hands to cup the sides of his face. She held him firmly even as he tried to wriggle away from her, and she gently brought his head down and pressed her lips to his forehead. "You're more of a man than most men I've known, Merle. And I'm proud of you."

He looked at her in surprise, and she felt a surge of relief flow through her as she saw the blues of his eyes softening and clearing, the dark awful memories drifting from his gaze. She bit at her lip, struggling against the tears again as she thought what he'd had to do on that rooftop, the horrible fact that he had been abandoned and left alone to rot, and nobody had given a single damn about him. But she meant what she'd said. He wasn't alone in any of this no more.

He bowed his head, his eyes closing as he pressed his forehead to her shoulder, his arm slipping up and around her back, his fingers splaying out. She cupped the nape of his neck with her hand, her fingers touching at his hair and she pressed her cheek to his, her lips touching at his ear. "I love you," she said softly, the words nothing more but a whispering exhale of warm breath against his skin.

Merle didn't say anything, but his arm tightened around her, pressing her to him more firmly as he burrowed his face into her throat.

They stood like that for a long while, their arms clasped tightly around each other. The silence of the prison wing was deafening in its severity, blanketing them both and lulling them into a false sense of security that there was nothing out there other than themselves, that there wasn't any walkers, and that they wasn't stood in the ruins of a long deserted prison wing-and that the world hadn't turned on its axis into the nightmare hellish place that it was now.

…

"Mister Merle, will you come read us a story?" Luke asked shyly, ignoring the slight shove that Mika gave him.

Merle grimaced at the boy, "The hell? I ain't gonna read ya kids no damn story. What do you think I look like, huh?"

"I told you he wouldn't," Mika said glancing quickly at Luke.

Luke pouted, his shoulders slumping and Carol nudged Merle with her arm. "Don't be so hard on him."

Merle frowned at her warily. "What the fu-you want me to do?"

She smirked at the sour expression drifting across his face, the way he was starting to fidget and she knew that he was feeling uncomfortable, but she found that she couldn't help herself. After seeing the normally strong and composed Michonne in tears, finding Scott had gone, and Merle's heartbreaking admittance of what had happened back in Atlanta-she found that she badly needed to feel some light relief. They both did. His good humor had returned slowly- but it had taken a while and she'd had to soothe and reassure him. She knew that he felt ashamed of breaking down in front of her, and she had told him that he had no reason to feel that way. It was never a weakness, it was a strength, and he'd just looked at her like she had gone and suddenly grown two heads.

"Maybe I want to hear you read us a story, Merle," she said, slowly smiling at him.

"I'll read ya a damn story alright. But it ain't gonna be one for them little ears," he said, raising an eyebrow as a lazy grin spread suddenly across his face. "Strictly X-rated darlin'."

"What's X-rated?" Luke asked quickly. "Does it have Wolverine in it?"

"That's X-men, not X-rated," Mika answered, looking up at Merle and frowning. "What does that mean?"

Merle coughed suddenly, "Huh, never you mind kids. Ain't y'all got some place to be? Quit bugging our damn asses."

"Merle," Carol warned, watching as he looked at her pointedly. She dragged her eyes from him and looked at Mika, "Where is your sister?"

Mika twisted the ends of her hair in her fingers, hesitating before answering. "She's with Molly at the fences. They went to see if Nick was still there. But I told her, I think he's gone."

Merle grunted, his forehead crinkling in thought, "Ain't remembering no Nick."

"Nick is special. Lizzie told me that," Luke said proudly.

Mika huffed, "Lizzie's a dumbass."

Carol stepped forward quickly, her hand reaching out and touching at the young girls shoulder. "Where did you hear that word, Mika? You know you shouldn't really say things like that," she admonished her gently.

"Dumbass," Luke said, giggling. He looked up at Carol quickly, "We hear Mister Merle and Mister Daryl say it all the time."

She pursed her lips tightly as she looked at Merle, watching how he was trying his hardest to ignore the children. "Ya ain't gotta repeat what us grown ups say, ya know. An' I don't say that all the damn time," he glowered.

"Damn," Luke repeated.

Merle sighed and glanced down at Luke. "Me an' you are gonna fall out, kid. Yer gonna get my ass into trouble with your Miss Carol."

"You're already in trouble," Carol said raising her hand to her mouth, trying to cover the smile that was threatening.

Merle sidled up to her, nudging her with his shoulder, the children suddenly forgotten. "Is that a promise?" he leered. "I got all the time in the damn world, if you have sweetheart. What are ya gonna do to me, huh?"

She slapped at his arm, and edged away from him, "Stop it," she said, gesturing towards Luke and Mika, seeing with some dismay how they were watching them both curiously. "Behave yourself Merle. Not in front of the children."

He took a step forwards, smiling at her, and Carol felt alarmed to see that wolfish grin spread across his mouth. She swallowed quickly as he leaned his head to hers, the thick stubble of his beard scratching her cheek as his lips touched at her ear. He breathed quickly and she felt a cool shudder ripple down her back. "Ain't gonna be no damn kids later, honey. I want to see _exactly_ what kind of trouble I can get myself into with ya-"

"Adults are _so_ weird," Mika sighed suddenly as she watched them, Luke nodding quickly at her side in agreement.

...

They made their way to the library, Merle leading the way and Luke trailing happily behind him, and Carol raised an eyebrow as she watched them. The young boy was swinging his arms as he walked, almost copying Merle, and she wondered at the fact that Luke had seemed to have taken a shine to him.

She looked at Mika and smiled, "Can you run and get Lizzie and Molly, please? We'll start Story Time when you're all back."

Mika nodded her head, and she let go of Carol's hand, running and skipping back down the winding corridor.

"Mister Merle?"

"What?" Merle grunted.

"Mister Merle," Luke repeated, stopping, his eyes widening as Merle glared back at him.

"Kid, whatever yer gonna ask, jus' go an' spit it out already."

"Mika said you wont."

"Huh? I wont what?" he sighed irritably. He looked at Carol and shook his head, his eyes narrowing.

Luke scuffed his foot on the ground and fidgeted. "Will you read us a story? Please," he asked, "I want you to. I don't care what Mika said."

"Ain't starting this again, Luke. I told ya that I ain't going to, an' that's that. Now stop asking yer damn annoying little questions an' keep quiet, alright?"

Luke pouted as Merle pushed the library door open, rushing past him to take a seat at one of the tables, his legs dangling over the chair and his heels clicking against the wood as he swung his legs.

"You shouldn't be so hard on him, Merle," Carol chastised, ignoring the fact that Merle was giving her a withering look. "He's just a little boy."

"When I was his age, I was looking after my baby brother. Damn kids getting it easy."

"That's exactly the point-you know more than anyone," she said, as she moved away from him to pick up the book she had left on the shelf the day before. She looked away from him as footsteps clattered on the wooden floor, and she watched as Lizzie, Mika and Molly took their seats breathlessly, sitting a little distance away from Patrick and a few of the other small children that had come in with the larger bespectacled boy.

Carol took her own seat, thumbing through the paperback to the page that she had left off at the previous day, frowning as Merle came across and plucked the book from out of her hands.

He frowned at her, "Don't ya breathe a damn word of this to anyone, mouse," he said sourly as he sat next to her.

Luke clapped his hands loudly, and Carol smirked as he tried his damnedest to ignore the small boy. To her surprise, Merle started reading from the book, and she glanced around the room, noticing that the children had fallen silent and were sat rigidly, hanging onto his every word.

And as she listened to his thick rasping voice reciting the words of Tom Sawyer and his pirating adventures with Finn the Red-Handed, she found herself hanging onto his every word too.

…

She felt tired and weary as she made her way back to her cell, her hands warm and still slightly reddened and crinkled from the soap suds and hot water from the laundry room. She'd spent another few terse hours with Jeanette and she wondered at the fact that her ears weren't as red as they should have been. The other woman meant well enough, but Carol had never known anyone else to talk so quickly and rapidly as Jeanette did.

She had despaired at the sheer amount of blood, dirt and walker guts that Merle's clothing had attracted, and at how threadbare his shirts and pants were getting with all the extra hard scrubbing that she'd had to do. She'd always thought that Daryl was bad enough...yet Merle seemed to be in a league of his own where filth and grime were concerned. She was only too thankful that she didn't have the extra burden of washing and scrubbing Rick and Carl's clothing anymore. Michonne had taken that upon herself, along with Andrea's.

She glanced about her, smiling softly and nodding as she saw Beth sat on the stairs, her head resting on Zach's shoulder, the two of them talking together in slight quiet murmurs. Judith was gurgling happily on her knee and Carol watched as Beth stroked her hand over the child's head, her fingers smoothing through her soft fine hair.

Rick was nowhere in sight, and Carol worried for him. She feared he was starting back down on a path that she didn't really want to see him tread again. She sighed quietly to herself, she'd seen the signs before.

"Hey, Carol."

She looked across and saw Glenn sat at one of the tables with Maggie, and she walked over to join them. "How are you both doing?" she asked, taking in the slight embarrassed hue to Glenn's face, the sudden upwards pull of Maggie's lips.

"We're doing just fine," Maggie smiled, quirking an eyebrow in Glenn's direction.

Glenn rolled his eyes as he looked away from her and glanced up at Carol. "Can you tell Merle something for me?" he asked.

Carol nodded, unsure what the hell Merle had told him, but half fearing that it couldn't be anything good. It surprised her that both him and Merle seemed to be getting along together, and she fervently hoped that the two of them had put their past differences away for good.

"Can you tell him that his advice...if you can even call it that...sucked?" Glenn said.

Maggie laughed a little, "Glenn-you should have known better than taking _any_ advice from him. I don't know why you listened. Be grateful that I know you a lot better than that."

Glenn's cheeks reddened slightly and he glanced away quickly. "Yeah, I don't know what possessed me to listen to a Dixon. _Especially_ Merle."

Carol looked at them both in confusion, "Okay, I will let him know. But...what exactly did he say to you, Glenn?" she asked curiously.

"I'd huh...rather not say," he answered awkwardly.

"Yes, he has a lot of making up to do after that. Alot," Maggie replied.

"Good luck with that," Carol laughed as she moved away from them. She didn't dare think what Merle had advised.

"Oh believe me. Glenn? He's going to need all the luck he can get," Maggie said, turning from her and staring at the sheepish man sat opposite.

...

She rubbed at her hands as she walked up the metal gangway that led to her cell, a small smile playing about her mouth. She had no idea where Merle had gone, only that he had seemed very attentive, yet also quiet and furtive; like he was up to no good. It made her feel mildly suspicious.

She tried to smother a yawn as she pushed back the blanket at her doorway, stopping and nearly stumbling over a large pile of books and rucksacks that lined the wall. The room was dimly lit by her storm lantern, the pale yellow light bathing the room faintly, soft shadows chasing across the dull walls and looming in the corners of her cell. She squinted in the thin light, gaping in shock at the sight before her eyes. She stepped into the cell hurriedly, her cheeks flushing furiously as she let the blanket drop down quickly behind her.

"I told you I was gonna read ya a story," Merle smirked. "Yer gonna have to come over here to find out what kind, darlin'."

She blinked rapidly, her hand rising back up to cover her mouth, and she fought hard against the laugh that threatened to bubble from out of her mouth. "I...I think I can guess," she said a little breathlessly as she looked at him.

Merle was laying on top of the blankets on her bunk, half propped up with pillows, a paperback book clasped loosely in his hand-wearing nothing but a wolfish grin.

...


	49. Chapter 49

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.**

_a/n: One of those chapters-the relative calm before the storm._

_I would just like to say a big thank to everyone that reads, and for the reviews, follows and favorites. As always, it means so very much to me._

* * *

...

Leaning over the railings, he watched as the prison started to wake from its slumber, and from his vantage spot up on the gangway he watched as Michonne limped her way from her cell. He saw her stop and weave her hands through the dreadlocks that tumbled darkly about her shoulders as Beth walked over to her, Judith clutched in her arms. The baby was grumbling softly, and Michonne paced nervously back a step, muttering something that he couldn't quite catch.

He looked away from them, staring at the large barred windows, the faint early morning light softly filtering through. He reached his hand into his pocket and pulled out his lighter; an old silver Zippo, and he twisted his head to the side as he thumbed it, watching the flame as it sprung and burned brightly.

Merle liked the mornings. Liked the silence and the solitude. Except in the prison there never seemed to be so much of that. He thumbed the lighter again, watching the small flame.

"What are you doing out here?" Carol said tiredly, and he glanced quickly across at her, smiling. She was wearing his shirt, the garment too large and flapping around her loosely, the cuffs dangling past her wrists. She smiled back self consciously as she walked across to him and leaned against the railings, her back pressing to the bar.

He flipped the lighter again. "Could ask ya the same thing," he said softly.

"I woke and you wasn't there," she said glancing at him. "I got worried, Merle."

He held the lighter awkwardly between his fingers as he delved into the pocket of his pants to retrieve his cigarettes. He fumbled with the packet, stopping and sighing irritably as she reached out and took them from out of his hand.

She quirked an eyebrow at him as she pulled out a cigarette and placed it into his mouth, before passing him back the smokes. He frowned as he handed the lighter to her, and pushed the cigarettes back into his pocket, inhaling sharply on the smoke as she lit it for him.

"I weren't goin' nowhere, ya know that," he grunted through a plume of blue smoke, the cigarette clenched between his teeth. "Ain't runnin' out on ya."

"I know," she said quietly, staring down at her hands. She held onto his lighter, one finger tracing the outlined pattern of an eagle in flight. She sighed as she looked at him, the smile fixed a little too firmly on her mouth, her eyes blazing a little too vividly.

Merle watched her warily. After what he had told her about Atlanta, his first instinct had been to run-like he'd always done, but the way that she had reacted to him had stopped him dead in his tracks. He had never told anyone what had happened on that damn rooftop-not even Daryl, and he'd surprised himself for suddenly spilling his guts out to her. He found that he wanted her to know what had happened to him, why he despised and resented Rick as much as he did. He wanted her to understand-but he'd had no idea that it would have been so painful as it had been.

It still hurt him that he had mattered nothing to no-one and nobody had even bothered to look for him. All those months...and the only one that had found and helped had been Philip fucking Blake. Merle had been in a severely fucked up mental state when that asshole had found...and patched him up. Offering him a new home and a new reason to try to exist. And Merle had grabbed at the opportunity, even though it had all been nothing more than a damn lie.

"Merle, are you okay?" Carol asked, and Merle looked at her, saw the concern in her face, her hand reaching out and catching his stumped arm. She squeezed him briefly, her hand dropping away.

"Ain't nothin' wrong with me," he lied as he raised the cigarette to his mouth and inhaled deeply. He blew the smoke out thickly as he turned away from her, staring down at the floor under them, noticing that Michonne was now sat at one of the tables, talking quietly with Rick. Merle wondered when that asshole had gotten back.

"Mhm," Carol sighed. She handed him his lighter back as she pushed herself away from the railings and stepped towards the cell, tugging the blanket back and securing it, leaving the entrance to the cell open. "Merle?" she questioned, "Are you going to explain why a lot of your books are in my cell? And your bags?"

"They ain't bags," he said gruffly, pulling on the smoke quickly before flicking the butt to the ground. He watched as the cigarette tumbled to the floor below. "An' I ain't knowing what yer meaning, woman," he growled as he walked over to the entrance, leaning one shoulder to the bars.

She looked at him, pursing her lips, "So...these? They just found their own way up here?"

Merle shrugged, wishing that she would just drop it. He had moved the majority of his shit from his cell to hers. He didn't want to question why he had done it-and he didn't want her to question it too much either. The fact of it was that his cell wasn't hers. He spent a lot of his time in her cell, it made perfect sense to him. He was getting fed up of never finding his own crap, always having to trek back down to his cell. It wasn't such a big deal.

"I can ask Daryl when he gets back-to help you move your things?" she asked, a small smile pushing at her mouth.

"Oh c'mon mouse, ya know there ain't no needin' of that," he grumbled as he stepped into the cell. He sat on the bunk, looking at the messy tumble of blankets, and smirked to himself- knowing all to well what had happened the night before. He looked up at her quickly as she pulled his shirt off, dropping it next to him. "Why ya gotta wear my shit, huh?"

"It was cold and it was there," she said, sitting next to him on the bunk. She laid her hand on his knee, looking at him carefully. "Merle, are you sure you're alright?"

He didn't answer her straight away, he let his gaze sweep past her to the entrance of the cell. He swallowed tightly, knowing now that there wasn't any point in hiding the truth from her no more-she deserved nothing but his honesty-even if he didn't want to admit to shit. "No Carol," he sighed tiredly. "I ain't alright, but I will be. Jus' need a lil time is all, ya know?"

She leant to him and kissed his cheek, sitting back and smiling sadly at him. "I know," she said quietly, squeezing his knee before getting to her feet.

Merle watched as she grabbed at a thin jacket, watched as she pulled it over the long sleeved top that she wore. He huffed to himself as she fastened her knife to her belt, and she looked at him, a small frown lining her face. "What is it?" she asked.

He pushed himself to his feet, shrugging the shirt on, feeling the warmth and smelling the scent of her still clinging to the fabric. "Why do you do it?" he asked, walking across the cell to retrieve his prosthetic. He sat back down on the bunk and fumbled with the leather strappings, grunting as he slipped his arm into the rough leather sheath.

"Do what?" she questioned, looking at him mildly in confusion. "I don't understand."

He buckled the straps, then shoved his shirt cuff up over his bicep, tucking the material so that it wouldn't get in the way, or restrict his movements. The metal felt cool on his arm. He glanced up as he got back to his feet, staring at her sullenly. "Why do you care, huh? Ain't nobody ever given two shits 'bout me before. Why the hell now? Why you?"

"Why not," she said shrugging and stepping over to him. He grumbled as she started to fasten the buttons on his shirt. "It's about time somebody gave a damn about you, Merle. Stop wriggling," she complained as he tried to squirm away from her.

"I ain't no baby-I don't need ya fussing over me, mouse-"

"Maybe I want to," she said quickly, smoothing her hand on his chest and patting his shoulder. "There, done," she smirked.

"Hell woman," he grimaced. He found himself surprised by her. She always surprised him. The sour mood that he'd found himself in started to ease away and as he looked at her, he saw the way that she was softly smiling at him- smiling like he actually mattered to her, and he shook his head, chewing at his lip. He hadn't seen her smile like that at anyone else-it was almost like she kept that little bit of herself just for him. "Ain't no pussy," he retorted as he inched away from her and walked towards the entrance of the cell.

"I know you're not," she said. She looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, "Besides, who else is there to read me a bedtime story?"

Merle nearly tripped over his own feet as he looked quickly back at her. He grinned suddenly. The woman had a good point. "If yer lucky darlin'-maybe we can even get to page two..."

…

Rick looked at him pointedly as he entered the room, and Merle ignored him as he dragged out a seat and sat down. He had to admit to himself that the man had bigger balls than most as Rick met his gaze unwaveringly, before nodding curtly at the dark skinned woman sat opposite.

"Ain't ya got nothin' to say, Rick?" Merle asked.

Rick stared at him for a moment, "There's no need of this Merle. Just don't."

Merle huffed loudly, "Oh, I'm thinkin' there's every need." He leaned his arms to the table top, deliberately placing his prosthetic in Ricks view, watching as the other man lowered his gaze to his arm.

"The pig, Violet," Rick said, staring at him as he raised his hand and rubbed at his beard. "She died. Early this morning." He sighed, weariness and sadness creeping into his voice. "I found another one, dead in the woods."

"The hell?" Merle answered. He frowned, something wasn't right, but he was damned if he knew. "Well, whatever. Guess yer gonna go back out there, huh? Gonna do yer lil farming stunt. Like that shit ain't foolin' none."

Rick ignored him. "I'll see you later?" he asked Michonne.

She smiled at him and nodded.

Merle narrowed his eyes as he watched as Rick paused, glancing at the two of them before striding off. "Why ya gotta talk to that asshole, Mee'chonne? After what he did to ya."

"It wasn't just me, Merle. It was the both of us," she reminded him.

"You still talk to him. Why?" Merle questioned roughly. He stiffened in his seat as she looked at him, her dark eyes fixed unflinchingly on his. "He left ya out to them damn wolves, same as he did me. Ya know-Rick got this way 'bout him. I seen it. He don't think none 'bout sacrificing people for the greater fuckin' good. You ain't gone forgettin' he wanted to trade yer ass off to the Governor?"

Michonne sighed, glancing down at her hands. "I know what he did Merle. But back then? I don't think I could blame him. Not really. Not for his choices, not for what he did. He believed he was doing the right thing by himself-by the group. His group. I can see that."

"Yer more forgiving than me," he said bitterly.

"He didn't know me. I could have been just anyone. I _was_ just anyone. What would you have done, if you were him? I can't blame him for doing something that he thought was right."

Merle leaned back in his seat, rubbing his fingers across the metal of his prosthetic. What the hell did Michonne know about any damn thing. "How the fuck can ye justify what he did to ya, huh?"

Michonne placed her arms on the table top and leaned towards him. She looked at him measuredly, "There has to be some forgiveness, Merle. He was trying to protect the people he cares for. He didn't want to take any chances. In this world... is that such a bad thing to do?"

"An' look at ya now. You're part of this damn group," Merle said sourly.

"And so are you," she answered.

Merle glanced away from her, chewing at his lip. "From where I'm sitting, Michonne-there ain't no forgivin'. I ain't nothin' like you."

She looked up sharply as Henry and Zach walked past, frowning at them. She leaned her elbow to the table, cupping her chin. "No. You're not me," she said quietly. "But you've gotta let go of that hurt. Believe me-nothing good comes of it." She sat back, letting her hand drop to the table top. "You either let that fire-that hatred consume you, or you move past it."

"Ya pussied out on me, Michonne," he remarked, glancing away from her as Zach caught his eye.

"No. No I didn't Merle," she said softly. "I just chose to grow the hell up."

He looked at her in surprise. He hadn't expected that reaction from her, not one little bit. How could she even speak up for that asshole sheriff, after what he'd gone and done.

Michonne got to her feet and pushed herself away from the table, glancing as Zach came along. "Merle? Do yourself a favor. This with Rick? Don't let it fester. You've got people behind you, good people. Whatever you think, you're not alone. The same as me. We need to make this work-but it's got to go both ways."

She looked at him for a moment longer, before pushing herself away. Merle watched as she walked off, and he sighed to himself. She had no idea what Rick had done to him. How he'd cuffed him to that rooftop and left him cowering and whipped like a dog. He couldn't ever forgive Rick for that. No fucking way.

"Merle?"

He glanced up sharply, "What?"

Zach looked at him, "A few of us are thinking of going on a run. Not right now. But Sasha is thinking that the timing is right, and well-would you come with us? We could use the extra man-power."

Merle got to his feet and headed off towards the small kitchen, thinking that the only thing right now that he wanted was a strong hot coffee. "When ye thinking on going?" he asked as he poured himself a mug.

"Later. This afternoon-if we can gather enough people."

Merle frowned. It wasn't lost on him that Zach had been pushing himself forwards for every supply run that had been suggested. The kid was good, and there wasn't many that Merle felt that he could trust on a run, and Zach was one of those few people. "Look, I ain't meaning shit by this kid, but yer been pushing yerself for every goddamned run. I reckon ya need to cool yer shit down. Ya ain't gotta prove nothin to no-one."

"I don't see it like that," Zach shrugged.

"I know ya don't kid. But I'm tellin' ya-take a backseat on this one, huh? What good are ya gonna be to anyone if you go an' burn yerself out?" Merle glanced at Henry. The guy had been avoiding many of the runs-instead he'd been favoring clearing the biters at the fences. "Let him take your place," he said gruffly.

"Who, me?" Henry asked, looking at Zach. "Hey, if you want me to cover you, it isn't a problem, Zach. I don't know, I just feel...bad for what happened before-"

"Henry, don't," Zach said, shaking his head.

"No, hey I said it isn't a problem. I can take the spot for you," Henry smiled. "I really should get back out there, prove to myself that I'm not a total worthless piece of crap. That I can get the job done."

"You sure?" Zach questioned. "I hate doing this to you-"

Henry smiled again, "It's cool."

"Good," Merle said, cradling the mug of coffee in his hand. "Then that's decided. Zach? Get the fuck out'a here, an' Henry? Yer with me now. Go an' tell Sasha I'm on board for this shit."

…

Merle squinted in the bright morning light, staring across the fence line. Across the dirt track, he could see Maggie, Glenn and Chloe taking down the biters that were surging at the chain links, the low growls of the undead assholes reaching across to him. He narrowed his eyes as he watched, and then he grit his teeth in annoyance as he saw Zach standing alongside them, a tire-iron in his hand. He'd told the boy to cool the shit down, to stop being so goddamned helpful-and there the kid was, at it again. He sighed. What was the fucking point.

He tore his gaze away, raising his hand and slapping at the chain links. "C'mon you fuckin' cock-sucking bastards," he barked out. "C'mere an' take a bite out of ole Merle. Whoa," he laughed as a biter swiveled its head and made towards him. "Hell sugar-ya sure are an ugly lil fucker, ain't ya?"

He leaned against the fencing, slapping his hand again, then poking his blade through the links and squarely through the biters eye socket. It squelched thickly. "Shit fer brains," Merle muttered as he pulled his bayonet back, wiping it on the thigh of his dirty pants. He watched as a few more of the biters made towards him and sighed happily. Seemed his little plan was working. He'd hoped to lure a few of the biters to the other side of the fence lines, to try to ease up on the masses that were gathering and congesting where Maggie and Glenn were. The fence there was starting to lean over a little too much, and he watched as the top wobbled.

"C'mon, ya dumbasses," he snapped out loudly again, slapping his hand and rattling at the chain links.

"Out on your own?"

He glanced over his shoulder, watching as Andrea made her way towards him. "Lookin' like it," he said, dismissing her and stabbing at the biters. "Ain't seen ya in a while. What'cha been doin'?"

"Nothing much. Taking watch shifts-a lot of them," she replied.

Merle huffed, "Been keeping out of the way, huh?"

Andrea sighed, "Something like that. I felt...feel bad about what happened with Scott."

"Weren't you," he said, watching as a biter tried to push its filthy hands through the chain links. He turned and faced Andrea, stepping away from the fence, his prosthetic dangling down.

"That doesn't make me feel any better. How's Carol?"

Merle stiffened slightly, squaring his shoulders. "She's fine," he replied curtly.

Andrea gestured with her hand, a curious half smile on her face, "And you and her? You're still-"

"Ain't none of your goddamned business," he snapped. He narrowed his eyes, watching her, "What the hell's it got to do with you anyway?"

She shrugged, "Just curious. I would never have thought she was your type."

"Ya don't know nothin' about me, sugar." He wished that she would just go and leave him alone with the biters. He had shit to do, and he wasn't interested in standing around and gossiping with her.

"I was thinking, earlier. I remembered what you said to me in Woodbury."

He raised his eyebrow, wondering where this conversation was leading. "I said alot of shit back then. Still do."

She laughed and scuffed her boot in the long grass, catching at her hair as a low gust of wind blew. "You asked me then why we had never hooked up, and I said-"

"That I called ya a whore an' a rug-muncher. Hell, I remember that," he smirked suddenly at the thought. "Had a way with words back then, didn't I?"

Andrea looked at him appraisingly, "You've changed since then Merle. You're different. You're not that drugged up racist ass-hole I knew from the quarry. And you're not quite the same guy I knew in Woodbury either. The change, whatever it is- has done you good."

"An' you ain't changed one lil bit, have ya?" Merle watched her suspiciously, "Ya know, I heard you were rammed so far up Shane's ball sack that ya didn't hear he was busy bangin' Rick's wife, did ya huh?"

"Touché," she said sardonically as she stared at him, raising an eyebrow.

She shifted on her feet, raising her hand to brush through her hair and Merle suddenly noticed she was wearing a blue shirt tied loosely around her waist and a skimpy little vest top that did nothing to hide the swell of her breasts. He knew that it wouldn't take much for him to move a little closer and cop a good eyeful. He licked at his lips, his mouth suddenly dry as he stepped nervously backwards, and away from her.

She caught him looking and she lowered her eyes, smiling. "We're still both the outsiders here Merle. Trying to fit in. If you ever want to...talk, reminisce about the good old days, you know where you can find me."

"Shit's changed," he grunted uncomfortably. "An' I ain't got nothin' that I'm wantin' to say to ya, Blondie." He glanced away from her feeling suddenly confused- he felt guilt rush through him and he didn't understand where the hell that feeling was coming from. All he knew was that he badly wanted Andrea to get the fuck away from him.

Andrea stared at him, and he squirmed under her bright blue gaze. "The offer's there," she said softly.

Merle ignored her and paced restlessly away, wanting to put distance between them. He looked up quickly and squinted into the distance at the sound of a deep thrumming engine, and a smile stretched across his face as he saw Daryl ride up to the main outer gate on his old Triumph.

"Shit yeah," he grinned as he raced across the dirt track, biters and Andrea forgotten as he pulled open the inner gate, allowing his brother in.

"Merle! Ya big fucking dumbass," Daryl said as he pulled the bike up and kicked at the kickstand.

"What the hell ya got there, little brother?" Merle asked as he walked over to him. Across the saddle bags were draped several black feathered and tattered looking bundles.

Daryl smirked, "Was a good hunt. Got a few turkeys. Thought might make a change from the shit we been eatin'."

"You were alright out there, on yer own Darlina?" Merle asked, looking at his brother in concern. Daryl looked filthy, tired but happy.

Daryl shrugged, "Ya know how it is brother. I gotta get out there, ya know-blow off some steam."

"Is about all ya get to blow," Merle smirked.

"Christ," Daryl grimaced. He looked up as Merle slapped his arm around his back, "Is good to be back."

"Yeah. I missed ya, lil bro," Merle said softly.

"The hell, Merle? Ya gone all pussy on me?"

"Ain't no pussy, brother. An' ya know I can still kick yer fuckin' ass one-handed, any damn time of the day, ya lil runt," Merle grumbled as they walked slowly back towards C-block.

...


	50. 50-Big Spot

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.**

* * *

…

"Merle, where the hell are ya, brother?"

Merle was sat on the bunk, leaning his back to the wall, the book he'd been reading dropping into his lap at the sound of his brothers voice calling up to him. "Up here, Darlina," he called back as he looked around the small cell, his eyes guiltily landing on his stack of books and his backpacks-the few belongings he owned stuffed inside them. He'd been starting to sort his shit out, mixing up his clothing with Carol's before she'd have the chance to really question why the hell his belongings was here-and before she could think twice and shove his ass back down to his own old cell. He'd been waiting for it-and he found to his confusion and surprise that he really didn't want that to happen. He liked sharing her cell, liked spending time with her. He was there most of the time anyway, so what the fuck did it matter.

He heard his brother clomping his way up the metal gangway, and he stiffened on the bunk.

"You weren't in your-" Daryl leaned in at the doorway, looking at him in surprise. "The shit? Wanna tell me why your cell is empty?"

"Drop it brother," Merle said as he bent the corner of the page he'd been reading. He placed the book back carefully onto the night stand. "I ain't gonna discuss shit with ya."

"You moved your stuff in? When did that happen?" Daryl asked in surprise. He shifted at the doorway, raising his hand and biting at his thumbnail. "Am surprised Carol let ya miserable ass up here."

Merle narrowed his eyes, watching Daryl. "I didn't give her no chance. Told her how it was," he shrugged.

"Yeah," Daryl scoffed, "'M sure that's what happened. You ain't told her nothin'."

"What the hell's it to you anyway?"

Daryl walked into the cell and stared at his backpacks. "Do you know what you're doin'?"

"I ain't stupid. I know what I'm doin'. I'm not gonna fuck her around. It jus' ain't happenin'."

Daryl glanced at him, "Just didn't expect this, not when I got back."

"Say Darlina, ain't you got no little women to go an' bother?" Merle smirked, wanting to change direction of the conversation. He felt uncomfortable talking to his brother about what was going on.

He sighed to himself. Daryl had been greeted as a big old fucking hero when he'd turned up earlier that morning with those goddamned turkeys, and Merle had grinned at the thought of his brother all red cheeked and flustered with a bunch of women clucking like old mother hens over him. They'd fussed and flapped all over his baby brother until the embarrassment had become too much for Daryl to bear-and he'd scuttled right back off to his cell to hide out for an hour until the women had eventually disappeared.

"Stop it, Merle," Daryl grimaced. "I didn't think they'd leave me alone. The hell? They weren't acting like that when I brought them damn squirrels."

"You went and got yerself a whole fuckin' harem the minute ya stepped in with 'em birds in yer hand," Merle smirked at the embarrassment flooding his brothers face. "Oh yeah little brother, ya ain't gonna move for them bitches now."

Daryl stared at him, shaking his head. "The hell ya know anyway," he grumbled.

Merle shrugged again as he glanced at his brother, seeing with some alarm how tired he was looking. "Shouldn't you be sleeping?" he asked.

"Nah," Daryl grunted. "Saw Sasha and she said about this run to the Big Spot- heard you were going."

"Yeah, said I'd be up for that shit. You ain't thinkin' on coming, are ya lil bro?" he frowned.

"Scouted that area back last week with her and Glenn. Yeah, I'm going-I ain't gonna miss it." Daryl turned his head abruptly and stepped out of the cell at the sound of footsteps coming from behind, and he smiled as soon as he saw Carol walking towards him.

Merle watched the two of them together, saw the way that his brother reacted to her. Daryl didn't pull away from her as she laid her hand on his arm, and Merle suddenly felt wary and uncomfortable. He wondered what would have happened if his brother had manned the fuck up and stepped up to the mark-would Merle have even stood a chance in hell with her. If he'd been more of a man back then at the quarry and less of the asshole that he'd been...if he'd loved her a lot sooner, could he have made any difference to any fucking thing. Could he have saved her from all the heartache and grief. He didn't know and it suddenly frustrated the hell out him.

He made his way to push past them both, stopping when he felt Carol touch at his waist. She looked up at him, a small frown crinkling her face and he sighed. He didn't know why, but he felt the sudden need to give them both space, and he tried desperately to ignore the pang of jealousy as it writhed in the pit of his stomach.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"On a run," he replied curtly.

Daryl looked at them both and stepped back awkwardly. "I'll see ya out there, a'right brother?" He nodded quickly as he turned and walked back down the gangway.

"You're going with Daryl? Sasha?"

"Lookin' like I am. Where the fuck did ya-"

"Don't do this Merle," she warned as she stepped into the cell, and he scowled as he watched her.

"Don't do what?" he huffed.

"This," she said tiredly.

He followed after her, grabbing at her wrist. He let his grip loosen as he saw her eyes widen. "I ain't do nothin'. Christ, what do ya take me for?"

"Sometimes Merle, I just don't know. You don't make things easy."

"Ain't nothing easy," he murmured as he pulled her to him and slipped his arm around her waist. "I huh...I didn't think I'd see ya before I left,"

She laid her hand on his chest, her fingers twisting in the material of his dirty wife-beater. "Just be safe out there, please. Come back in one piece."

He swallowed quickly at the look on her face, at the worry in the soft tone of her voice. In the past he'd never had anybody to come back to, apart from his little brother. He'd never had anyone waiting on him, not even back at Woodbury. Nobody had ever been concerned, or given two shits if he lived or died. Nobody except her, now.

He leaned down and kissed her, "I will. You ain't gonna be getting rid of my miserable ass that quickly, mouse," he murmured. His heart lifted as she smiled back up at him.

She patted his chest, "That's all I can ask for," she said.

...

Merle was surprised to see Michonne heading towards them, and even less surprised to see that Henry was characteristically late as usual. Glenn was loading up the trunk of the Hyundai, wearing the full black body armour that the original group must had found when they'd first stormed the prison. They must have been a pitiful group back then, nothing more than a bunch of kids, women and assholes-but they had done the nearly improbable and cleared out the prison wings. Merle found that he had to begrudgingly admire their collective balls for that. Even that asshole of a sheriff.

"I'm here!" Henry called out breathlessly.

"'S about time, man," Daryl drawled lazily. He looked across to Merle and nodded his head as he secured his crossbow to the front of the bike, and Merle felt a pang at the thought of his old Triumph, and the fact that he'd never be able to ride that bitch again. Little brother didn't look after that baby like he'd done in the past, and Merle could already see signs of neglect on the body work, on the thick fat chrome exhaust.

He dragged his gaze away, watching as Bob sauntered across the courtyard to Sasha. Tyreese was leaning restlessly against the door of the SUV next to his sister, almost like he was looking to her for confirmation. The big guy would be all right once he got out there, Merle had no doubt of that-it was just the damn time spent hanging around before the action kicked off was what played on Tyreese's nerves. Under fire-he'd cope. He'd get the shit done that he was told. Merle had seen it before.

"You were out there on your own when Daryl and Michonne found you," Sasha was looking at Bob with a curious detached interest.

Bob shuffled on his feet, his fingers curling around the straps of the backpack slung across his shoulder, "That's right."

Sasha didn't break her gaze and Merle watched her with sudden interest. The woman was cool as fucking ice and she probably had a bigger dick than what Bob had.

"I just want to make sure you know how to play on a team," she said.

Daryl glanced up from the bike, his fringe falling into his eyes, "We ain't gonna do it unless it's easy."

"Jus' as well," Merle scoffed. "Look at y'all. I ain't never seen such a bunch'a-"

"You know Bob was a medic in the army," Glenn interrupted as he slammed the trunk of the Hyundai shut.

Merle rolled his eyes, looking away quickly as he heard Michonne walking across the courtyard to him. He glanced at her raising an eyebrow.

"Before you say anything, the ankle? It's fine," she said as she stood near to him.

"I weren't about to say any damn thing," he shrugged, looking over his shoulder as his brother weaved his way over towards them.

"Well, shit-look who's here," Daryl said. "When did ya get back?"

"Yesterday. You?"

Daryl pulled a pack of battered cigarettes out of his leather vest. "This morning," he grunted, tapping the packet with his hand and popping two out. He stuffed one into his mouth and offered the other to Merle. "You're coming out on this run, 'Chonne?"

Merle lit his cigarette, half smiling as he watched them both curiously. Out of all the weird assed friendships his brother had made here-this one seemed the most damned unlikely.

"I am," she replied slowly. "Daryl, I'm going to tell you what I told your brother. You're right. There's no point to it any more."

Daryl looked at her in surprise, his smoke dangling out his mouth. "What ye saying?"

"You were right about the Governor. That the trail out there is cold. It's dead. He's gone and I just have to accept that we're not going to find him."

"Ya did what ya could, Michonne," Merle answered. "Ain't none gonna fault ya for what you've done."

She sighed, "I could have done more _here_."

"Nah," Daryl puffed out in a plume of cigarette smoke. "Merle's right. Ya did what you had to. Ain't no knowing until ya at least try." He shifted restlessly on his feet, the heel of his boot scuffing the hard ground. "It's good to see ya back in one piece, 'Chonne."

"It's good to be back," she smiled.

Merle sighed feeling suddenly impatient. They were spending too much time hanging their asses out and chewing the goddamn fat. He just wanted to be off and get this shit done.

"Let's get the fuck out'a here Darlina," he grunted, dragging hard on his cigarette before flicking it to the ground and crushing it under his boot. "Ain't got no reason to be hangin' round."

"Always this impatient?" Michonne asked wryly.

Daryl smirked, "Should've known this asshole when he was younger," he called out over his shoulder as he strode over to where the bike was parked up.

"Guess that's my cue to go too," she said. "Looks like you've got some company."

Merle glanced up quickly, watching in annoyance as Zach made his way over towards him. "What are ya doin' here? I thought I told you to take a backseat on this shit."

Zach thrust his hand into his pocket, "Chill out, I'm not coming. Just wanted...hell, I don't know. I feel bad that Henry's taking my place."

Merle shrugged, resting his hand on the roof of the Hyundai. He watched as Glenn pulled open the drivers door and got in. "Ain't got no reason to kid. Get yer ass out'a here, go an' spend time with that lil girl of yours."

"Not much chance of that," Zach complained. "Beth's got Judith again."

"An' ain't that the way huh? Women an' damn fuckin' kids," he scoffed as he slid into the passenger seat.

Zach leaned into the window, his hand resting on the roof, "Just...take it easy out there, and Henry-thanks man." He slapped the roof loudly as he stepped away.

The back door slammed and Henry grinned as he buckled himself in, "I'm looking forward to this. Surprisingly...yeah I am. I've got a feeling this is going to be a good run."

Glenn started the engine up, staring out of the window as Daryl kick-started the bike, then pulled up slowly behind him. He glanced at Merle and shook his head, a small half smile forming on his face. "Rookies," he mouthed.

"Hey! I heard that," Henry called out from the backseat.

Merle grinned at the indignant expression pasted on Henry's face as he looked into the rear view mirror.

…

Several large green medic tents lined the parking lot, enclosed within long lines of chain link, and Merle hung back as the others pushed their way through a thickly blood and gore encrusted ragged gap in the fencing. He swiveled his head, glancing behind them at the deserted parking lot, a few long abandoned cars and trucks parked up some distance away from their own vehicles. The sound of classical music played discordantly, the batteries from the boom box Glenn and Sasha had hooked it up to slowly starting to drain of power.

He slipped his colt from the his belt, his fingers flexing over the wooden handle, and he grimaced as he followed after them, Henry walking just in front of him.

"Jesus, this," Henry muttered.

"Ain't nothing to worry out. Biters long gone," he answered. "This-ya know it ain't nothing more than a sweep, we're here jus' to take a look, yeah? Gonna come back with more-" he paused when he saw the worry on the other mans face. "You ain't gonna go an' lose yer bottle in there Henry."

"I didn't say I was," Henry replied a little too quickly. "I'll be fine in there, told you before-this will be a cool run."

Merle pushed his way past him, pausing for a moment and looking at Henry pointedly, "As long as we're clear-there ain't no room for fuckin' up. This ain't that damn warehouse."

He saw Tyreese stop, the shotgun clasped loosely in his hands as he gingerly peeled back one of the large flaps of the tents with the muzzle, and Merle curiously made his way over, stopping and looking into the interior of the tent. Several camp beds were arranged in lines, the thick green canvas bunks stained darkly with dried blood. There were more blood trails spattering the dull asphalt, surgical swabs and bandages littering the floor like long forgotten confetti. On two of the bunks lay withered and long desiccated corpses, the leathery remains of their lips pulled back from the bony faces in a perpetual snarl, remnants of teeth and wisps of hair the only other thing that marked them as being vaguely human at one time. He didn't miss the trails of long dried blood at their throats, and he wondered if they'd ended it for themselves, or if they had been put out of their misery.

He shrugged as he stepped back, "It ain't these dumb fucks ya gotta be worrying 'bout big guy."

Tyreese shook his head and frowned, "I always think it's going to be different out here than back at the prison, but it isn't. It never is. It's always the same, them and us."

Merle raised his eyebrow, and glanced past him. Daryl and Michonne were heading off towards the entrance of the Big Spot, and Merle hurried after them, Tyreese sighing and trailing after him.

Large wooden crates blocked the way and Merle irritably kicked at one, peering inside as he pushed past- but it was empty, like the rest of the crates. There wasn't anything salvageable or of any damn worth in the army encampment. Whatever had been here had been used or already looted.

Daryl was leaning against one of the large darkened window panes, adjusting and tightening the string on his crossbow, talking quietly to Michonne. Merle made his way to the doorway, glancing up at the clear blue of the sky lined with a few grey clouds. He frowned, chewing at the inside of his cheek. Everything seemed so perfect. Too perfect.

"What is it?" Daryl asked as he pushed himself to his feet, his boots thudding loudly on the concrete.

Merle shook his head and walked away from him, the colt in his hand, his prosthetic dangling at his side. Tyreese and Sasha were dragging out a couple of biters that they found inside.

"Jus' want to get this shit over," he muttered suddenly, peering into the murky interior.

"Got somewhere better ya should be, brother?" Daryl asked knowingly.

"Ain't we all?" Merle smirked.

"I'm going shopping," Michonne grinned, pulling a small shopping cart with her.

Henry laughed, and Merle felt himself relax a little at the sound. He didn't know what the hell had gotten into him, all he knew was that all morning he hadn't been feeling right. He guessed what Michonne had said to him earlier about Rick had rattled...and pissed him off, and then Andrea acting all fucking weird around him-he couldn't fathom that shit out either.

He glanced once more across the parking lot and the row of medic tents, shrugging to himself before turning on his heel and following after Glenn into the store.

…

"What the hell are ya gonna do with that, Kim?" he asked as he saw Glenn pull a boxed camera off a shelf.

Glenn looked at him sheepishly, and Merle raised his eyebrows as the Asian tucked it into his backpack. "I don't know," he answered, "Maybe take some pictures of Maggie-"

"Oh I think I do Glenn, and shit-I didn't think ya had it in ya," he grinned. He was amused to think that the sneaky Chinaman was wanting to take a few 'candid' shots of his little woman. He wondered just how up for that Maggie would be. "If yer wanting my advice-"

Glenn laughed quietly as he paced towards another shelf, "I'm not taking any more of your advice, Merle."

"Your loss," Merle shrugged, watching as Glenn stopped, his eyes fixed on a large box with photographs of babies, names and dates on it. Glenn stared at it, and Merle felt his interest suddenly pique.

Glenn glanced back at him and was about to open his mouth, when a loud smashing sound of breaking glass echoed throughout the store, breaking loudly through the heavy and pervasive silence. Merle stared at him, watching as the other man held up his flash light. "What the hell was that?" Glenn hissed.

Merle pushed past him, "I ain't knowing, but it ain't sounding like it's anything fuckin' good."

Across the room from them, two large wooden shelving units were leaning precariously over at right angles, bottles of wine and beer smashed all over the floor, the sudden pungent stench of alcohol tainting the musky air. Bob lay underneath one of the units, trapped, and Merle glanced up at the sudden ominous sound of creaking coming from above them, and as he watched in alarm, a hole gaped suddenly, bright sunlight filtering through the semi-dark, palely lighting the inside of the store. A dull muffled thump came from behind and he spun on his heels, raising his pistol and thumbing the safety back quickly as he saw a biter fall through the roof and hit the floor, its head hitting the hard concrete and smashing like a ripened pumpkin, blood and brain matter spewing out darkly.

He heard his brother calling out to Bob, asking him if he was okay, and heard Bob's muffled gasp of pain.

"What happened?" Glenn called out from his side.

"Everyone's alright. We're over in the wine and beer section," Henry answered distantly. "Oh shit!" he yelped out suddenly as two more biters fell through the ceiling.

Flash lights danced across the dimly lit room, lighting the floor space, and Merle grabbed awkwardly at Glenn's backpack, yanking him backwards and out of the way of a biter that was trying to reach out and claw at him. There was another on the floor, crawling sluggishly towards them, and as Merle glanced at it, he saw that its one leg was bent at an unnatural angle. He quickly smashed his boot into its softened skull, blood and gore splashing up the leg of his pants.

"Thanks," Glenn breathed out shakily.

"Weren't nothin'," he answered tersely as he let go of him and gripped the pistol tighter. He looked across the room to his brother, feeling a sudden fear and frustration at the distance separating them. Tyreese made his way towards Daryl, Henry tagging just behind him, their shotguns blasting as more of the biters fell through the ceiling and surged towards them.

The creaking got louder, and they were showered with powdery dust as more holes gaped suddenly, spilling more biters to the ground. Some of the bodies splattered on impact, throwing up thick sprays of blood and gore that splashed across the ground and across the lower half of the shelving units. A few of the biters scrambled to their feet, ambling off in all directions, and Merle heard the staccato frenzy of a semi-automatic, heard the soft swoosh of Michonne's katana.

He looked across at Glenn, seeing the fear and concern in the Asians face. They were separated from the others, blocked and backed into a corner, the biters starting to press at them. He raised his colt and fired, seeing with grim satisfaction that Glenn stood side to side with him, holding out his own pistol and firing repeatedly. They moved slowly forward, inching their way towards the exit. His pistol jammed, and he rammed it into his belt, lashing out with his prosthetic, kicking at the biters he impaled on his bayonet.

More of the biters poured through the ceiling, the light in the store now bright and painting the store in surreal colors, and Merle glanced up, seeing with some amusement that one biter was dangling from a jagged beam from the now ruined ceiling, its intestines wrapped around a metal bar. The biter spun slowly around as its arms and legs thrashed about uselessly.

"Move it, Chinaman," he hissed as he blocked a biters feeble attempt to wrap its teeth around the metal of his prosthesis. He pushed it back, kicking at its knees, watching as it fell to the ground and he raised his foot to crunch its head under his boot. Blood sprayed thickly up against the leg of his pants, soaking through to his skin, but Merle ignored it as he looked across the room.

Daryl had managed to drag Bob from under the shelf, and Henry was bracing his back against it, exertion marring his pale face. Tyreese was backing away, covering them with fire from his shotgun, and as he watched, he saw Henry suddenly plummet to the ground heavily, his high keening cry of despair ripping and rending through the air.

Merle saw the biter crawl up Henry's body, watched as it sank its teeth into his throat-frustration fighting inside him as he stood there watching, powerless and unable to do a damn thing about it. Henry screamed out again; the sound high and urgent, harsh and painful to his ears. Blood sprayed out thickly, and as the biter bit down again, chunks of flesh dribbling from out of its mouth, its chin stained freshly crimson-Merle heard Henry's cry drop to a low anguished moan, the sound bubbling thick and wetly from his ripped out throat.

The creaking from above gained momentum and volume, pounding at his ears, and he looked up as the light from the broken ceiling suddenly dimmed, the loud screeching of metal shifting against metal echoing painfully throughout the store room.

"I think," Glenn panted at his side, "I think we should get the hell out of here!"

"Come on!" Daryl yelled out. "Let's go, now! Go!"

They backed away quickly, their guns and rifles clearing a small path as they crowded at the entrance, stepping back and watching with horror as the ceiling tumbled in upon itself with an ear-wrenching metallic squeal, the store room suddenly dimming and blacking out as the ruined body of a helicopter plummeted and crashed to the ground.

...

They raced across the parking lot, only stopping when they were some safe distance away. Sasha bent over, her hands clasping her legs as her breath came out in soft panting sobs and she looked up as Tyreese laid his hand gently on her shoulder.

"Shit," Glenn wheezed as he looked across at the others.

Merle strode over to a large wooden crate. He stared at it for a moment and then raised his foot, kicking viciously at the box, venting his frustration out. None of this was supposed to happen. Henry was dead and the supposedly easy scouting run had turned into the mother of all fucking disasters. They'd return to the prison empty fucking handed and one of their own gone. He kicked at the crate again, cursing loudly.

He stopped as he felt a hand catch at his elbow, the grip tight and unyielding and he glanced angrily at his brother, trying to shove him away."This...it weren't supposed to go down like this. Fuck it," he snapped.

Daryl pulled him away, "Easy, big brother," he soothed. "Nothin' we could'a done, Merle. Shit fucking happens. Always does. Ain't none to blame."

Merle pushed his brothers hand from off him, his ears still aching from the thunderous crashing of the helicopter as it had hit the ground.

He paused, frowning as he thought he could hear the sudden mournful cry of a lone bird far off in the distance breaking through the still and heavy silence. He gazed across the parking lot, ignoring the medic tents as he squinted, trying to pinpoint the sound. For a moment...he swore that he could almost feel the leaves as they slapped damply against his shins as he pushed through the undergrowth, the salt of his sweat as it trickled down his cheeks and stung at his lips. His heart yammering wildly in his chest. The smell of wood and blood and ozone. A young man, not much older than Henry, looking up into the distance as he pointed out the bird. The crack of the gun as it lurched in his hand as he rammed it to the side of the mans head and pulled the trigger, the bitter regret that he didn't want to die like this-he didn't want Blake to know that he had fucking failed and let that black bitch go.

He gazed at his brother, his eyes dull and his brow furrowing in concentration. "His name," Merle said softly. "It weren't never Neil. Gargulio. Yeah, that was it. Gargulio."

"Merle?" Daryl stepped cautiously closer, looking at him in concern. "The hell, brother?"

Merle swallowed tightly and shook his head, the memory fading and drifting away. What the fuck was happening to him? He didn't want to be remembering none of this shit, not now. Not none of it. "It weren't nothing, Daryl," he murmured, biting at his lip.

Daryl paused for a moment, unsure whether to try to pursue his brothers train of thought. Something was obviously bothering him. He shifted uncomfortably on his feet, his hand tugging the strap of the crossbow from off his shoulder. "Merle?" he asked. "You a'right, man?"

"Why the hell wouldn't I be, huh?" Merle bit out quickly. "Can we...let's jus' get the fuck out'a here, little brother."

Daryl shrugged. "A'right," he grunted as he moved quickly off into the direction of the bike.

Merle watched his brother for a moment, and then sighed irritably as he saw Bob loitering at the chain links- he could see that the other man was clearly shaken up.

Bob raised his head and stared at him wide eyed, the fear still marring the dark browns of his eyes. "That...back there-"

"Weren't yer fault," Merle shrugged. "Shit happens."

Bob shuffled on his feet, "I was moving fast, man. I drove right into the drinks. I couldn't do anything. It all happened too quick. Henry...he pulled that shelf right off me, saved my life."

"He was a good kid," Merle said, wincing suddenly. He pushed himself away, suddenly feeling nauseous and so very, fucking tired. His head ached-he could feel the start of a headache pressing at his temple and thudding dully behind his eye.

He nodded curtly at Bob before heading off to the Hyundai where Glenn was waiting for him. "Let's jus' go."

Glenn sighed as he tugged the car door open. He looked across as Merle climbed into the passenger seat. "Everything okay?"

"You take risks what ever the fuck ya do, Glenn. Ain't nothin' safe," he sighed tiredly as he buckled his seat belt. "Shit-ya know I don't think that kid had any family back at the prison? Ya reckon that's fucked up shit, if there ain't none to grieve yer goddamn ass?"

Glenn blinked rapidly, the strain showing on his face, dark bruised smudges under his eyes. "Yeah, dude," he nodded slowly in agreement. "That's pretty fucked up."

He glanced once more at Merle before starting the car up, and they drove back to the prison in a silence that Merle was suddenly grateful for.

...

"You're all back," Zach grinned, pushing himself from the prison wall that he'd been leaning against. "I've been waiting. Where's Henry?" he asked.

Merle looked at the floor, his hand fidgeting about the metal of his prosthesis. "He didn't make it."

Zach shook his head, his eyes widening. "What the hell do you mean-he didn't make it?" he laughed shallowly. "Come on man, stop kidding me. Where is he?"

Merle shook his head, "Ain't no joke," he sighed wearily. "He saved Stookey. Ain't no consolation, an' I'm sorry kid."

Zach slumped back heavily against the wall, "That...shit. That could have been me. If I'd gone."

"Ya didn't go. You're here. Don't go thinkin' on shit like that," Merle grunted sympathetically.

"Henry...he had watch tonight. I should tell Chloe, I guess. I just...I think I just need some time alone. To process. I can't believe he's gone. Like that."

Merle pulled open the door to C-block, "Don't ya worry about his shift. I'll take it."

He watched Zach nod dumbly and after a moment, he turned from him, walking into the prison wing, letting the outer door slam shut behind him. He strode through the prison block, ignoring the few pitiful residents that were sat at the tables talking amongst themselves, gossiping and sharing with each other the menial run of the day shit that they'd been doing. Merle couldn't care less. He wanted...he had to see her. His boots thumped hurriedly up the metal gangway to their cell.

Carol was sat on the bunk, and Merle was thankful that at least there were no damn kids with her. She looked up at him quickly, watching as he strode into the cell, moving the black shirt that she'd been repairing off her lap and onto the night-stand.

"Is everything okay, Merle? Was it a good run?" she asked, slipping to the edge of the bunk.

"No, it fuckin' weren't," he snapped impatiently, "Get your stuff, now."

She looked at him in surprise, her eyes widening, "What's wrong?"

"Ain't nothing wrong. I got watch to take later, an' I ain't wantin' to take it on my fuckin' own. I want ya with me, so go an' get your damn stuff ready."

Carol frowned at him, "You've only just got back." She reached back across to the night-stand, her fingers grasping at his old shirt.

He paced irritably across to her, wrenching the shirt from her grasp and throwing it to the ground. "Will ya stop tryin' to fix shit?"

"I'm not going anywhere-not until you tell me what the hell has gotten into you," she snapped back, and Merle was both surprised and intrigued by the two hot flares of pink that burned high on her cheeks.

He watched her carefully for a moment, then sat on the edge of the bunk, resting his elbow on his knee and leaning his forehead into his hand. He closed his eyes to the pain of the headache flaring at his temples. "The run today? It went to hell. We lost one of the group, Henry," he admitted.

She sighed as she edged across the bunk, sitting closer, and she reached out her hand and touched at his waist, her hand smoothing across his shirt, her palm laying flat against his back. "Oh God, I'm sorry."

He didn't answer straight away, just sat there silently, his skin prickling pleasantly as she rubbed her hand soothingly across his back. He felt the tension start to ease and he wondered at the fact that no matter how he felt, no matter how pissed or angry he was-just her being around always seemed to make him feel better. Better about himself. He'd gone past questioning it any more. She soothed away the restlessness and self loathing that he felt about himself. She made him feel like he could be a better man.

"I weren't meaning shit, ya know, honey?" he murmured, raising his head to look at her. She smiled at him-a soft sad little smile and his heart lurched in his chest. "I gotta take this watch later, an' I jus' want ya with me."

"Okay," she said quietly, nodding. She leaned closer and cupped his chin with her hand, her eyes fixed brightly onto his. "You only had to ask."

"I know," he smiled back at her, and nuzzled his chin into her hand before moving away, his hand catching hers and resting them both on his thigh. He leaned towards her and pressed his lips to hers. She kissed him back, the kiss gentle and long drawn out, her other hand cupping his cheek, her fingers softly stroking his temple. Merle sighed against her as they broke apart, leaning his forehead to hers, resting there for a moment, enjoying the closeness that they shared.

Reluctantly he moved away and looked at her thoughtfully, "I ain't been an' asked ya how yer day went. Without me 'round."

She smoothed her hand over her hair, and he smiled as he saw the little unruly curls poking up between her fingers. He entwined his fingers with hers as their hands lay on his thigh. "It was uneventful. Thankfully," she said. "Patrick excused himself from story time. Said he didn't feel very well. Honestly, I think poor Mika thought he was going to be sick all over her. I just hope what he's coming down with isn't catching."

"You know kids. Always some damn thing. Daryl was the same when he was a brat. Still is a brat," he grinned.

"Merle, stop," Carol chided softly as she leaned her head to his shoulder. He wondered if he should be feeling like he was right now, happy and relieved, knowing that out there some poor fuck had died and for once-he hadn't been the cause of it.

...


	51. 51-Last Supper

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.**

_a/n: I really felt the need for a little light, I suppose almost fluffy interlude between the last chapter and the one to come._

_Edited chapter._

* * *

...

Carol wasn't sure just how long he had been asleep with his head laying on her lap, but it must have been a while because of the tingling numbness in her thigh. She longed to move him and regain the circulation in her leg but as she looked down at him, she found that she didn't have the heart to do it. Not quite yet.

He had fallen heavily asleep and his dreams hadn't been kind at all. He'd murmured a few times and at one point his arm had flailed and he had smacked his prosthetic solidly into the bunk, and it had taken her a while to try to sooth him. She knew from the past that if she moved...or woke him abruptly, he would at times almost panic- as if he didn't know where he was or even who he was with. She'd learnt mostly to leave him to wake on his own, or to try to placate him like the few times she had brought him out of his bad dreams with soft words and even softer gestures.

His eyes were moving rapidly under his closed lids, and she brushed her fingers gently through his hair, sighing as she watched him, wondering what he was dreaming about. He was looking older than he did when she'd first known him at the quarry; there were patches of gray in the beard coating his chin and wisping across his cheeks and in the soft small curls of his hair. The lines in his face were more pronounced, tiredness marking its severity under his eyes with thick dark smudges.

She supposed none of them looked the same as they once did-the constant pressure of trying to live, trying to survive in this world was leaving its mark on them all-and she felt a grim satisfaction that almost bordered on pitiful pride that she looked or felt nothing like the woman that she had been. With some irony she knew that Ed would have never stayed with this group at the prison, he would have left long before and taken her with him. She had no doubt that they probably wouldn't have even survived- Ed had been stupid and naive back then-believing that everything would work out just damn fine, the National Guard would've saved them all. He couldn't even save himself, the stupid pathetic man.

Carol grimaced-knowing how much Ed wouldn't have wanted any part of this, _any_ of it. He wouldn't have ever tried to change and fit in and work within the group-and she realized just how much she _had_ changed in that time. He would never have approved; he'd always liked her docile and terrified of him and of everything, and she remembered his twisted amusement and his resentful loathing of her at the quarry, his volatile temper and the way that he used to press himself on her in the confines of their own tent, his breath hot and rank against her skin as he'd bear down on her, hurting and bruising her in places that would never be seen. Her own fear and disgust as she gave in fighting and let him brutally use her-wondering all the while that he did it...did it even count as rape if it were her own husband? Ed had always said it was nothing more than a man's right as a husband-but she knew a lot better now than she did back then.

She was a different woman, and if he hadn't had died, she swore that she would have put down that sick fuck herself. For how he'd look at her...how his lust filled gaze had started traveling past her to their daughter.

Carol swallowed thickly, feeling the bitterness of nausea sting and burn at the back of her throat. It didn't pay to dwell on the past, her thoughts would run rampant, running around in never-ending exhausting circles in her head. Ed was dead and that was all that mattered. He was gone... but she wondered tiredly just how long the ghost of him would continue to haunt her.

She glanced down at the sleeping man. Merle was everything that Ed wasn't. He had never forced himself on her. He was gentle, despite his rough abrasive manner and his natural surliness, and she knew that he never meant anything by it, not with her. She felt that she didn't deserve this gentleness from him...not with any man. How could anyone possibly want her after Ed...but Merle had surprised her and she in turn had surprised herself by falling in love with him. She hadn't meant for it to happen at all, but it had.

He grumbled in his sleep as she placed her hand under his head and eased away from him, and she froze, not wanting to disturb him. She waited a few seconds before inching her way from the bunk, watching quietly as he settled back down. Her leg felt numb and she rubbed her hand swiftly over the muscles, trying to rub the life back into herself as she gazed around the small cell. Light still streamed through the top of the window of her cell, and she supposed that it had to be at least late afternoon by now. She'd lost all track of time, but it was an easy thing to do.

Carol glanced down, something dark and bundled near to the bunk catching her eye and she knelt on the floor, picking Merle's old shirt up, twisting the fabric in her hands. He'd wanted to know why the hell she was trying to fix the tattered garment, but she would never tell him. He'd worn it when he'd gone off in pursuit of the Governor, and she kept it for sentimental reasons, knowing that he could have died...that he very nearly _did _die, and it was at that moment that she finally acknowledged the fact that she'd started to think of him more than _just_ 'Daryl's asshole of a brother'. She smiled wryly at a sudden thought-if Merle had any idea that was why she'd been keeping the shirt, she was under no illusion that he would berate her ass and toss it in with the trash.

She was about to get to her feet when she noticed a backpack pushed under the frame of the bunk, one strap trailing across the dusty floor. She placed one hand on the mattress, the shirt in her lap as she leaned under and dragged it out by its strap, and she peeked up quickly, feeling her cheeks starting to flame with guilt. She hadn't put it there, and curiously she slowly unzipped it, frowning as she saw several items of her own clothing nestled inside with bottles of water, cans of food, a flashlight. She sat back on her haunches, shaking her head and wondering what the hell, and as she peered back under the frame, she saw another backpack-slightly larger, and obviously full from the way its sides were bulging.

The scuffle of boots on metal just outside her cell made her sit back up rapidly and she grabbed the shirt from off her knees and thrust it inside, zipping the backpack up quickly and pushing it back. She got to her feet, her cheeks still flushing, and she glanced guiltily across as Daryl leaned against the railings with his back to her, just outside of the cell.

She smoothed her hand over her hair and rubbed at her cheeks as she stepped out of the cell, casting a quick glance back at Merle on the bunk.

"That asshole ever gonna wake?" Daryl asked as he pulled a cigarette from out of the pocket of his leather vest.

"Don't be so mean," she chided as she leaned her back to the railings, her arm bumping against his. "How long have you been out here?"

"Long enough," he said softly.

"Long enough for what?"

Daryl shrugged as he inhaled on his cigarette, letting the smoke plume out of his mouth as he rolled the butt of the cigarette between his forefinger and thumb. "Nothin'. Did he tell you 'bout that run?"

"He told me some, but not all of it," she said, leaning across the railings and glancing down at the floor below. She saw Tyreese and Sasha sat close together, watched as Tyreese looked up suddenly, a big smile plastered on his face as Karen came across to him and his sister, waving in greeting to her. "I didn't ask."

"He tell ya 'bout that damn helicopter?" Daryl asked.

Carol glanced at him quickly, her eyes narrowing. "Helicopter?"

Daryl shifted on his feet and leaned his back more to the railings. "Yeah, just after the shit went down with Henry and all them damn walkers dropping out'a the sky-"

"Daryl?"

He looked at her in surprise and frowned, "Merle didn't tell ya 'bout that either?"

"No. No, he didn't," she sighed as she turned to face him. "I know the run went to hell. He said that much."

"I ain't seen anything like it before, Carol-and I hope to God I don't again. Walkers dropping like that out of the ceiling, shit man, was rough. Couldn't save Henry, weren't possible-couldn't even put the sad fuck out of his misery. Damn 'copter must'a been on the roof the whole time. Came crashin' down on us, was luck we all got the hell out'a there." He dragged on his smoke again, shaking his head at the memory. "Merle? He didn't take it so well. I dunno what the fuck."

"Jesus," she frowned, glancing back towards the cell.

"We made it out. Am thankful for that."

"Not everyone made it," she reminded him, and almost regretted what she'd said as a dark look passed swiftly across the bright blues of his gaze. "It's been a while since we lost anyone. It happens Daryl."

"Mhm," he answered, taking a last pull on his cigarette before dropping it to the ground and scuffing the toe of his boot across the embering butt.

They both glanced sharply at each other at the sound of a rumbling snore coming from across the cell, and she raised her hand to cover her mouth, trying to fight back a reluctant smile as Daryl rolled his eyes heavenwards. "Big fucking dumbass," he grunted as he leant his back against the railings, fidgeting and picking at loose threads that dangled from the edge of his ripped and stained shirt.

They stood a while in silence, and Carol tried not to think about the run both of the brothers had been on. She didn't know what she would do if she'd lost either of them. It was a thought that she stoically refused to give voice to and acknowledge.

"Heard you were popular today," she said suddenly, smiling at the embarrassment that flooded across his cheeks.

"Shit. Not you as well," Daryl mouthed sourly. "It ain't funny, Carol." He raised his hand and stared at his fingers before chewing at his thumbnail.

"Keep bringing home turkeys? You're gonna have to deal with the love and the fame," she teased.

"Pffft," Daryl leaned to her and bumped his hand on her arm, jostling her. She raised her eyebrows at him, and he smirked at her expression. "Stop." He glanced over to the cell, "Reckon is about time for dinner-you gonna wake that asshole brother of mine?"

"Yeah. Go on without us, we'll join you later," she said, shrugging as she moved away from the railings and stepped over the entrance of the cell. "Daryl?" she called out, as he stopped and looked across at her. "Go easy on him."

He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully, then he nodded his head and moved hurriedly down the gangway, his boots thudding loudly against the metal. Carol watched as he left then turned back towards the cell, looking in surprise as Merle sat on the bunk, propping himself up with his prosthesis as he rubbed sleepily at his eyes with the heel of his hand.

"How long have you been awake?" she asked suspiciously.

"Don't ya go an' bitch my ass already mouse," he rasped. "Why the hell did ya let me sleep?"

She leaned her shoulder to the wall and smiled, remembering a time when she had asked him the same thing. She gave him his own answer back. "Didn't want to wake you. You were quiet."

"Huh?" he frowned.

"Never mind." She saw with some amusement that his hair was ruffled and messy.

"The hell ya lookin' at me like that for?" he said, narrowing his eyes.

"Nothing, just your hair. It's sticking up," she laughed.

He raised his eyebrow as a slow lazy grin spread across his face. "Ya need'a come over here darlin', an' I'll show ya summat else that's sticking up."

"Dinner first, then we've got a watch shift to take, you know that Merle," she said as she tried to ignore as he patted at the space next to him on the bunk. "If we don't go now, there might not be anything left. You need to eat," she chastised, stopping when she saw the sudden hurt in his eyes. She went across and perched on the edge of the bunk, looking at him in concern.

"You deserve better than the shit I give ya," he mumbled, glancing away from her and staring at the far wall.

"What is it?" she asked softly, reaching across and resting her hand on his prosthetic. "What's wrong?"

He shrugged and fell silent for a moment, "Ain't nothin' wrong. I jus'... hell, I don't know. Wanted ya to make shit better. Forget it," he said brusquely, shoving her hand away as he pushed himself to the edge of the bunk.

Carol sighed, not really knowing what was wrong but knowing that something was suddenly bothering him. She caught his arm just above the metal of his prosthetic, and he glanced at her sullenly as she slipped across the bunk towards him. "Don't you tell me to forget it. I won't. Something's wrong-"

"I done enough talkin' an' this ain't nothin' I'm wanting to discuss, alright? Jus' drop it mouse," he said uneasily.

She looked at him shrewdly, saw how uncomfortable he was becoming, the way that he was nervously biting at the inside of his cheek. She knew from old that there was one thing that could affect him as much as it was doing now. "Is this about Woodbury? Something that happened there?"

He turned his head away from her and shrugged again, "I told ya, I ain't wanting to discuss it."

She watched as the blood at his temple pulsed, the way that he was sitting restlessly on the bunk. Nothing was ever easy with him-he'd seen and been through too much, but she wouldn't push him to tell her anything that he didn't want to say-she'd never done that with him. If he wanted to tell her, then she would just wait until he was ready. It was one thing she had learnt from her time with his brother. Daryl had been the same, and she was reminded again just how similar and yet how so unlike both of the brothers could be.

"Oh Merle," she said softly, reaching out and catching his chin with her hand. She turned his head slowly to face hers and he met her gaze reluctantly. "Daryl's right. Sometimes, you really are a dumbass."

Merle looked at her in surprise, his eyes widening, "The hell?"

She smiled as she touched at his jaw with her fingertips. "You heard me," she said softly.

"Yer calling me a dumbass?" he grimaced. "You've been spending too much time with my damn brother."

She leaned towards him, her fingers stroking at his beard and he stiffened warily as she slipped her hand up his arm and around his shoulder. "I thought I spent a lot of my time with you," she smiled. He turned his head slowly, his smoky blue eyes fixed narrowly on hers, and she felt a pang at the tiredness still evident in his gaze. She leaned to him, her fingers catching his chin, holding him there as she pressed her lips softly to his. As tired as he seemed she mused to herself, it didn't stop him from kissing her back, his arm slipping around her waist and holding her close as he deepened the kiss, his tongue flicking and pressing against her lips. Her heart pounded in her chest as she leaned further into him, and he chuckled suddenly, the sound like music to her ears.

She kissed him again, briefly, as she pushed herself away, and she smiled again at the petulant look he shot her.

"Later," she said absentmindedly-her mind already on other things, wondering if she should go down and help with the evening meal. "We should go, I swear we're going to miss dinner. Daryl's waiting for us."

...

As they walked slowly into the main wing of C-block she suddenly felt frustrated by the fact that almost everyone was sitting at the tables, and that she hadn't helped in any way. She walked over to the small kitchen area, as Maggie and Beth started to serve up the evening meal.

"Can I help?" she asked.

Maggie smiled at her, "We're good. Just go and sit yourself down. We'll bring it over-"

"There's nothing I can do?" she said in surprise. "What about D-block?"

"Apart from Karen and a few others, we're keeping to our own groups," Beth replied. "It's how they wanted this. I don't know why," she shrugged.

"Be thankful Bethy. It means less for us and more for them to do. Carol? Go sit, we've got this," Maggie said, and Carol sighed at the look on the younger woman's face. She knew that there wasn't much point in arguing with Maggie in this frame of mind. She raised her eyebrows as she paced restlessly back across the room to where Merle stood, waiting.

"They ain't needin' ya?" he asked.

She frowned, "No. No they're not."

"Good," he grinned. "Now ya can come an' sit with me, an' ya can quit buggin' my ass if they're wanting yer help or not," he said as he strode over to where his brother sat, Carol trailing behind him.

"Now that we're finally all here," Hershel said pointedly, "I'd like to say grace. To thank the Good Lord for what he has provided us with today, and to thank Daryl for being the instrument of God's hands and aiding in the provision with this bountiful feast-"

"Rick's not here yet, Hershel," Glenn broke in, looking around the room.

"Ya really think ole man Hershel's laying it on a bit fuckin' thick, huh?" Merle asked quietly as they took their seats at the table next to Daryl.

Carol glanced at his brother and saw how he was hanging his head and trying awkwardly to avoid everyone's gaze. "I think Daryl's starting to regret ever going on that hunting run," she whispered as she sat down in her seat. "What are you doing?" she asked as Merle shifted his chair closer to hers.

"Sittin' next to ya," Merle smiled, and as she looked at him, it was obvious to her that he'd seen the suspicion written all over her face. "Hell...I'm jus' being nice to ya, darlin'," he complained. "Ya know- wantin' to spend time an' be with ya an' all that shit."

Carol frowned, then looked up quickly as Rick strode loudly across the room, a grumbling Judith held tightly in his arms. He took a seat at a table where Carl and Michonne were sat waiting, and mumbled a quick apology before beckoning for Hershel to continue.

"Nice to see ya grace us with yer presence, Officer," Merle drawled.

Rick turned in his seat and glanced across at him, and Carol saw the sullen cast drop on Merle's face, the way his mouth suddenly pulled downwards.

"I'm even tryin' to be nice to that asshole. Though he ain't worth jack fuckin' shit to me," he said sourly.

"I know," she answered, reaching out to him underneath the table and laying her hand sympathetically on his thigh. She squeezed his leg, hoping that he would realize that she did understand and that she could see that he was at least trying to make some sort of effort.

He leaned under the table and placed his hand over hers, his palm laying flat and warm on the back of her hand, his fingers touching and brushing gently against hers. She smiled at him as he leaned closer, his shoulder bumping hers.

Hershel looked around the room, his bushy white eyebrows knitting together. "Are we all here?"

"Food's getting cold," Daryl bumped his arm against his plate, and looked up guiltily.

Carol stared at her own plate, the heady aroma rising up and tantalizing her. It was nothing more than cold cuts of turkey and a few canned vegetables-potatoes and a few sparse mixed greens, the best of what they had. But it made no difference to her, she was grateful for it. This was by all probability the best meal that they would have in for what seemed like months.

She looked up quickly at Merle in question as she felt her hand being moved and she wondered irritably if he'd misunderstood her act of sympathy towards him. She narrowed her eyes in warning, "Merle, what are you-"

He smirked as he leaned his head closer to hers, "Shh little mouse, don't ya be going an' telling everyone here," he whispered smugly.

He sat up in his seat a little as Hershel's voice reached out to them in the sudden silence of the prison wing. "Whether we eat or drink, or whatsoever else we do, we do all to the glory of God," Hershel said, bowing his head respectfully.

"Mouse," Merle whispered softly as he pressed his hand more firmly to hers. "Ya got the sweetest little hands when they're...ya know. Where they are right now. An' I know ya got the sweetest little mouth-"

"Fuck's sake brother," Daryl hissed as he leaned over the table, "Merle-show some goddamn fucking respect, man."

"I ain't doing no damn thing," Merle rasped as he leaned his prosthetic arm against the table top.

"The hell ya are," Daryl retorted, pushing back in his seat, stopping and staring across the room as the others looked at him in surprise. His cheeks started to flame in embarrassment.

Hershel cleared his throat loudly, waiting as Daryl sat back in his seat reluctantly. He waited a few moments, before continuing. "We ask that you bless this food to our bodies Lord, and let us hold you in our hearts. In Jesus name we pray, Amen."

"Amen and thank fuck for that," Daryl murmured as he dragged his plate closer.

Carol mentally echoed Daryl's sentiments as she pulled her own plate towards her, and for a while, the only sound in the room was soft murmured voices, and the clinking of cutlery against the chipped china plates.

…

"I'm going to see if Maggie and Beth will at least let me help them clear the plates away," she said as she nudged Merle's arm with her hand as she got to her feet.

"Ya ain't gotta help them. Sit the hell back down, woman," he glowered. "Ya do enough. Let 'em do somethin' for you for a change."

She shook her head as she picked her plate up, and stacked it with his and Daryl's. "I don't see it like that Merle, and you know it." She didn't wait for him to answer, she picked the plates up and carried them off to the small kitchen area, feeling his eyes burning on her as she moved away.

"Carol?" Beth said, "We can do this. We don't need you."

"I want to help," she smiled.

"I know," Beth answered, "But daddy always says that we have our own jobs to do, and this time we can manage."

"It's fine," Maggie said as she took the crockery off Carol. "You do enough around the prison. You're always so busy with the children."

"Judith's enough for me," Beth added.

"You do more than enough with her," Maggie chided her sister.

"It isn't a problem Mags. Judith's a good baby," Beth retorted.

"You're both making me feel redundant," Carol sighed, "A little useless and surplus to requirements-"

"Carol?" Maggie said, "Just go. Spend some time...I can't believe I'm saying this to you, but yeah. Go and spend some time with Merle."

"If you're sure..."

"We are," Maggie smiled.

Carol knew by the looks on their faces that they were not going to be persuaded anytime soon and she mumbled her reluctant thanks as she walked back across the wing to the table where both the brothers sat. She watched them for a moment, smiling. They were talking quietly amongst themselves and she saw Merle thump his brother softly in the arm, saw the way that Daryl grinned back at him suddenly.

She glanced across the wing, her eyes drifting and resting on Rick. He was talking to Michonne, Carl sat riveted in his seat as he watched his father and the dark skinned samurai. She felt the sudden necessity to talk to Rick, wanting him to answer the one question that she kept to herself.

"Rick, could I have a word?" she found herself asking, not quite knowing how or when her feet had propelled herself across the floor towards him.

Rick glanced at her, and nodded, "Sure, what's wrong, Carol?" he asked as he handed Judith over to Carl.

"In private?" she asked, her heart starting to tremor deep in her chest.

He got to his feet and touched at her shoulder, his hand resting there momentarily. He tilted his head to one side, his blue eyes fixed on hers.

She didn't know how to say it, and for a moment she thought carefully on her words, unsurety crowding at her thoughts. Rick just watched her, letting her take the time to gather her thoughts.

"This...with Scott," she said warily, watching as he glanced away from her, the sound of his cowboy boots scuffing against the worn concrete. "I need to know what happened. What did you do?"

Rick didn't answer her right away, he gazed across the prison before swatting at his beard with one hand. "Why do you need to know?" he asked curtly.

"I don't know. Closure?" she suggested.

"He's gone, and that's all you need to know. I took him out there. I Left him, with supplies. I took him out there and now he's gone and he wont hurt you, or anyone else here at the prison."

"Like Randall?" she said, instantly regretting her words as he twisted his head quickly to stare at her.

"Not the same. It isn't the same damn thing Carol. I thought," he grimaced momentarily. "I thought you would be happy with this."

"I can't be happy if I don't know," she answered.

"I've had to make decisions, hard choices I'm sure that everyone isn't happy with. But I've had to make them. I'll do what I can to protect this group. You're not stupid Carol. You know exactly what is out there...what we face daily. You have to do what you feel is the right damn thing at the time to protect your own. Your family. The group as a whole. You've been teaching the children, and I know I'm not exactly happy about any of that-but, you're doing what you think- what you _feel_ is the best to survive. To give them a chance. It's what I do."

"You're not going to tell me?"

"No," Rick said, shaking his head. "I gave him a chance. More than he deserved."

She knew that he wasn't going to tell her anything, and she felt the frustration seethe within herself. It seemed that she was never going to know. "Thank you Rick," she said as she moved away.

"You're welcome. I think...I think I'm going to try and see if I can get Judith to settle for the night. Carl promised to read her a bedtime story, and I'm thankful that she's too young to know the difference between Wolverine and the Hulk," he smiled. "Damn comic books. I promised 'Chonne that I'd beat her at a game of chess. Although, between us, I think she might have the upper hand on me."

"Good luck with that," she smiled.

...

"Remember back at that barn? I told ya that it works, an' ya didn't damn well believe me."

"What works?" Daryl frowned.

"Ya know. Merle charm. I got it an' you ain't. That's always been your problem, Daryl. You jus' ain't never seeing how the lil women like it."

"The hell, Merle?" Daryl laughed. "Reckon all that meth ya smoked with yer damn tweaker friends gone fucked ya head up big time."

"Maybe," Merle conceded. "But least I'm gonna get me some, an' you fuckin' ain't," he grinned.

"Yer an asshole," Daryl grunted.

"Whatever. But right now little brother? I'm a happy fuckin' one."

Carol pursed her lips and frowned as she looked across at Merle and Daryl, watching as they stood almost huddled conspiratorially together. She'd half heard their conversation as she made her way back over towards them. "Is that so?" she asked, taking some satisfaction as Merle looked at her in surprise and the way that his brother was now smirking at the both of them.

"Weren't saying nothin' that weren't meant for ya sweet little ears," Merle smiled innocently.

"The fuck ya were," Daryl smirked.

Merle ignored his brother, "What did _that_ asshole want?"

"Who? Rick?" she asked. She shook her head, smiling at Daryl as he made his excuses and left them. She sighed tiredly as she watched him walk across the cell block wing, and then she turned to look back at Merle. "It was nothing. Just haven't had a chance to catch up with him. Don't worry," she said as he grimaced. "It wasn't anything like that."

Merle huffed, "Well, whatever mouse. Ya coming to take this watch with me?"

"Said I would, Merle," she yawned suddenly and covered her mouth with her hand.

"Yer tired. Ya need to go an' get some rest."

"I said I would come and take watch with you," she said softly. "And I'm not in the habit of breaking promises."

He watched her for a moment, noting that she was looking tired. "Henry was taking watch at tower three. There's blankets there, ya can go an' lay down if you're still insisting on coming with me."

"You asked me to," she reminded him as they walked to the entrance.

Merle chuckled as he placed his hand on the door, pushing it open with a rusty squeal. "Yeah I know I did, an' if yer lucky, I might even let ya sleep in a little."

"How romantic," she said as she stepped out into the courtyard.

"Told ya before darlin'. I'm all hearts an' flowers."

...


	52. 52-Outbreak

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.**

* * *

...

Night had crept its insidious way across the entire prison, marring everything in an inky blackness that even the faint wan light of the moon couldn't hope to dispel. The evening air was warmer, warmer than it had been before, but Carol couldn't help but shiver as they paced across towards the watch tower.

She rubbed her hands briskly across her arms, stopping and bumping solidly into Merle as he paused in the thick darkness.

"Mouse?" he grumbled. "The fuck ya doin' there honey?"

She smiled in the dark, "Well, I was following you-"

"It's so fuckin' dark, I can't see a damn thing."

"I hope there's a lamp in the tower," she said as he grabbed at her arm and pulled her with him. "At least one that works."

Their boots thudded softly up the steps of the tower, and she shrugged his hand from off her arm as she grasped the railings, feeling her way up the steps. She almost breathed a sigh of relief as they made their way to the top, Merle leaving her in favor of finding the rifle, her in favor of finding the small storm lantern in the control booth. "Pass me your lighter," she asked.

He came across and fumbled in his pocket, before pressing his lighter into her palm. She wished for a moment that this lamp was like the ones that most of them had in their cells-powered by batteries, but even as she thought that, she dismissed it. Batteries now were fast becoming a scarce commodity, and it made more sense that the lamps in the watch towers were powered by oil.

She primed the lamp carefully, her one hand sheltering the small flame of the lighter-even though she was inside the small glassed cubicle. She smiled as the small light spluttered then flared, and she guarded the light carefully as it shone within its small glass confines. The warm light pulsed and pushed back the darkness-even if it was only marginally.

Holding the lamp up, she shone its faint light around the tiny room, noting the tumbled messy pile of blankets shoved into a corner on the floor, and she ruefully wondered if any of them would get any sleep that night.

The door clicked softly shut behind her as she stepped onto the gangway, her gaze softly drifting across at Merle as he stood at the railings, the rifle that had been left there gripped loosely in his hand.

"Hey," she said, holding the lamp up as he turned to look at her.

"Ya know mouse. I been thinkin'."

She shrugged, "Sometimes it doesn't pay to think."

"Ain't that the truth sister," he said, raising his eyebrows as he stared at her, the faint light glinting in his eyes. "But, fuck yeah. I been doin' some thinkin', an' I want ya to be honest with me."

"What is it?" she asked as she stepped next to him, leaning down and placing the lantern on the ground. She grasped the railings, the cool chill of the metal cold under her palms.

"Ya reckon-" he started, then shifted next to her, glancing over the railings, his eyes squinting in the darkness as he looked down towards the fences. "Ya reckon we would've met, before all this shit?"

She paused, staring at the fence line in the thin light. It was hard to see much of anything, although the low moans of the walkers reached up and across towards them. She found that she had to concentrate and focus on the noise, and she wondered sadly at the fact that it now seemed so common place that the sounds of the walkers barely registered at all. It was a bad sign that they were all becoming so complacent to the sound of danger that surrounded them at all times.

"No," she replied, shaking her head. "I don't think we would have."

"Well. Ain't that a shit," Merle said softly. "I'd like to think that I would've known ya. But I'm a fuckin' fool for thinkin' crap like that. I was nothin' more than an asshole back then. We're different-an' yeah, yer right. We wouldn't have met."

"Maybe our lives would've crossed at some point, I really don't know-"

"But I do," he sighed. "We're...you an' me? We're from different places. I ain't nothin' but low class redneck trash. An' you? Fuck darlin'. You're so much better than me. You always have been."

"Merle?" she said softly as she looked up at him. In the faint yellow light he looked haggard, but as he turned his head towards her she felt her heart swell in her chest at his intense gaze. "Nobody is better than anyone else. All that class divide before? It doesn't mean a thing. Who is better than whoever else just because of money and position in life doesn't mean a damn thing. It didn't then, and it doesn't now."

"You an' him-"

She leaned over the railings, her eyes narrowing in thin wan light. She thought she could see Rick making his rounds around the perimeter. "He doesn't ever stop. He just keeps on checking the-"

"Rick? Huh. He ain't nothing more than a damn fool jackass," Merle grunted. "Mouse? I wished that you an' that fuckin' idiot ya were married to-" He looked quickly away from her, his eyebrows pulling downwards, a sneer almost clouding his face. "Yeah. Fuckin' Ed. He weren't nothin'. I don't know how the hell ya ended-"

Carol shrugged as she leaned against the railings. "He was Sophia's father. I don't regret that. I might regret everything else, but that? No, I don't. Not for one minute," she replied.

"Wished I could'a done more," Merle grimaced. "I weren't at my best when you first knew me."

"But I know you now. I wish things could've been different. You know how much I do. I would give anything to have her here. But she isn't," she sighed deeply, the breath catching in her throat. She missed Sophia with every breath in her body, but there wasn't anything that she could do, except hold the few pitiful memories of her locked deep within her heart. She fought back a sudden sob as tears welled in her eyes and as she blinked in the dark, she felt the wetness of them slip down her cheeks. "I miss her so much Merle."

She felt his arm slip around her waist and pull her close, and she pressed her face to his chest, feeling the fabric of his shirt pressing roughly against her cheek, smelling the sharp tang of him; sweat, cigarettes and oil. She inhaled deeply, taking comfort in him.

"I know ya do," he said quietly.

"There's just no point. No point anymore. She's gone, but there are others here that need me. I have to remember that. Lizzie, Mika, Luke. I have to do what I think is right. I need to protect them. I know you don't agree-"

"I ain't never said that, Carol," he said sharply. "It's jus' that ya ain't given' yerself no time to grieve."

"I'm doing what I think is right by those kids. Giving them tools to survive out there. Something that Sophia never got," she answered brusquely, trying to push herself away from him and grimacing as he didn't relinquish his hold on her.

"Ya got me all wrong, sugar. I get why you're doing what you're doing, I do."

"But what does it change, Merle? I can't ever bring Sophia back. It doesn't change any damn thing," she said tearfully, sagging in his embrace.

"It changes everythin' darlin'. Ya jus' ain't seeing it. But it does." He pressed his lips briefly to her forehead as he let his grip around her ease. They stood a few moments in silence, her head pressed to his chest, listening to the dull thump of his heart.

"Carol?" he asked almost fearfully, the tone of his voice thick and heavy. "There's somethin'...ah fuck it...hell. There's something that I need to say to ya, an' I know I ain't ever said before," he rasped. "An' I know if I don't tell ya now, I'm gonna lose my goddamn nerve for fuckin' sure."

She looked up at him curiously, wondering what it was that he suddenly wanted to tell her. She was about to ask when a sudden flash of light in the near distance caught her eye. She watched it for a moment, watched as the small pinprick of light faded in and out of the darkness.

"What is that?" she asked, placing a hand on his chest and moving away. "There? Don't you see it?" she gestured towards the fence lines.

"The hell?" He leaned against the railings. "Huh, it probably ain't nothin' more than officer friendly checking the perimeters again," he grunted in reply, shrugging.

"No," Carol frowned. "I don't think it is Rick. Stay here," she said as he moved to follow her. "You're right, it's probably nothing, but I'm going to look anyway."

She ignored his grumbled protests as she hurried down the steps of the watch tower, her eyes fixed on the flash of light as it grew steadily larger. Her ears picked up the faint tread of footfalls in the stillness of the night and she waited a moment before stepping quickly towards it.

She blinked in surprise as a flashlight shone in her face, and she squinted, reaching her hand out and grasping at an arm. She could just about make out the small form of a young girl with pale hair in the faint moonlight. "Lizzie?" she asked as the light dropped away from her and shone onto the concrete.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know anyone was out here," Lizzie said, glancing at the floor as she gripped the handle of the flashlight.

"Why are you out here?" Carol shook her head, unable to take her eyes off the young girl. She felt concerned that something was wrong-it was evident in the way that Lizzie refused to meet her gaze.

"I...I couldn't sleep," Lizzie replied breathlessly. "Please don't be mad at me. Mika said he was gone. I couldn't wait, I had to see. I'm sorry Carol."

"Who were you looking for?" Carol asked softly.

"He's g-gone and I...I couldn't see him," Lizzie started to cry, tears welling up in her eyes and slowly trickling down her cheeks.

"Oh sweetheart," she said, taking hold of Lizzie's hand, feeling the girls hand grip hers tightly. "It can't be that bad. Look, I'll take you back in to your cell, your dad must be worrying-"

"He doesn't know," Lizzie blurted out, "Please don't tell him, he'll only be mad and shout at me-"

"I won't say anything to him. It's okay," she said as they walked across the courtyard, the light from the moon bathing everything in a faint silvery hue as it poked out from behind thick heavy clouds. Carol paused at the entrance of the prison wing, frowning. "But you have to promise me that you won't do this again. It isn't safe out here. Do you have your knife?"

"Yes, I have it here, just like you taught us," Lizzie smiled shyly and patted at a small leather sheath attached to the belt at her waist. "Carol? Can you read me a story? I know it isn't story time but I don't want to go back just yet...and I like being with you. Please? I'm not tired."

Lizzie was looking up at her with those earnest blue eyes shining and brimming with tears and Carol felt her heart lurch tightly in her chest. She couldn't refuse her, how could she? "Of course I can," she said softly. "But just for a few minutes-"

Lizzie smiled at her happily, gripping her hand tighter. "I like you reading to me. I mean to us, of course. It helps make the monsters go."

Carol swallowed quickly as they walked towards her cell. Sophia always used to have that fear of monsters lurking under the bed and hiding in the closet, and she would insist on Carol sitting up with her, reading until she fell asleep."I had a daughter once," she said quietly, watching as Lizzie looked up at her in surprise. She nodded at the girls unspoken question and curiosity. "I always read to her at bedtime-"

"Where is she now?" Lizzie asked as they walked up the gangway, their boots clinking softly on the metal.

"She...she's gone."

"I'm sorry. She must have been special. I would have liked her, I know I would have."

Carol smiled wanly as they stepped into the cell, watching as the young girl clambered up and made herself comfortable on the bunk, tucking her legs underneath her, her eyebrows raised quizzically as Lizzie watched her intently.

"And I'm sure she would've liked you too," Carol answered, taking one of Merle's paperback books off the nightstand and replacing it quickly as she looked at the cover. She very much doubted that Lizzie wanted to hear a grisly crime story before she went back to her own bed. "I don't think there's anything here to read."

She sat on the bunk next to the girl, "I'm sorry Lizzie. Adult stories here only. You're far too young," she smiled as Lizzie gave her an almost indignant stare.

"Can you tell me about your daughter instead? I'd like to hear, please, Carol?"

Carol sighed again as she settled on the bunk, stiffening in surprise as Lizzie leaned next to her, her head resting against her arm. "Her name was Sophia, and I loved her very much," she started, remembering the times before the turn, how they'd lived-the happy memories of when it was nothing more than her and Sophia in their large house when Ed was away on one of his many business trips. Those were the happiest times that she could remember.

She spoke for a while, her voice soft and full of bright sad memories that reached out and painted the drab interior of the cell, and she found herself lost for a moment, caught up in the memories. She glanced to her side, and saw that Lizzie was watching her sleepily through half closed lids, and she nudged her gently. "Come on, time to take you back."

Lizzie grumbled, but let Carol walk her back to her own wing, her hand clasping Carols as soon as they'd left her cell. She smiled softly at the girl, reaching out and touching at her hair as they stopped outside the girls cell.

"Sweet dreams," she said as Lizzie paused hesitantly at the entrance, then she bit back a sudden sob as Lizzie turned quickly and wrapped her arms fiercely around her waist, before letting go and pushing the thin drape back from the entrance of her shared cell.

She could hear the soft slumbering snores of Ryan issuing from beyond, and she wiped at the unbidden tears in her eyes at the young girls sudden and unexpected gesture. With a heavy aching heart, she returned to her own cell and lay back heavily on the bunk, falling asleep quickly-her dreams a tangled nightmare of barns and death and of two young girls that watched her silently in the moonlight, both wearing large vivid smiles.

…

She thought she was still dreaming when she heard the first muffled sound of gunfire, and she woke groggily, pushing herself up with one arm, wiping at her eyes. She looked down at herself-she'd fallen asleep still wearing her clothes and boots, her knife still strapped to her waist. She felt a pang when she realized that she'd left Merle up in the watch tower on his own, after promising him that she would take the watch shift with him.

A second muffled thump echoed loudly throughout the prison, and she pushed herself quickly off the bunk, shoving the thick blanket at the doorway from her as she hurried down the gangway.

She saw Rick and Glenn across the floor and she hurried to meet them, "Rick, what's going on?" she asked in confusion.

"Walkers in D," Glenn spat out quickly.

"Oh my God... I don't understand-" she said, turning as Daryl came up to her, his crossbow ready in his hands.

"Ain't no time to explain," Daryl said quickly, "We gotta go and help them." He turned to Rick, "This ain't a breach, man."

"We followed the plan," Sasha shook her head in disbelief. "The tombs were locked down, Hershel was on guard. There's no way this is possible."

"We don't have time for this. Carol, grab a weapon. Come on, we've got to go!" Rick barked out abruptly. "Now!"

…

It was carnage, sheer damn carnage...there was no other word to describe the panicked mayhem that was going on all around them in D-block. There were walkers everywhere and they were attacking the residents, biting and clawing at them greedily. She felt nausea and panic grip her as she suddenly saw the two young blonde sisters huddled together, and she raced across, dodging a walker and swiftly stabbing it in the head with her knife as she raced towards them.

"Lizzie, Mika. Come with me now," she cried out, almost sobbing as the two girls looked at her with fear and relief. She wrapped her arms around them, quickly ushering them towards an empty cell. Mika clung onto her, her terrified distraught sobs wringing her heart. "Listen to me now, the both of you. You have to stay here-"

"Please don't leave us," Mika sobbed, "Please don't go-"

"I have to," Carol said quickly. "Just do as I say and stay here. I won't let anything happen to you. You'll be safe, I promise."

Lizzie looked at her in fear, "You promise? Please don't leave us Carol...Mom promised us she'd never leave, and she's gone-"

"I won't leave you," Carol urged. "I will be back for you both," she said, glancing over her shoulder. She fought back another sob as she watched in horror as Ryan fell heavily to the floor, one arm raised as he tried to push back the walker that was biting and tearing at his forearm. She saw Glenn emerge from nowhere, his blade lashing out and taking the top of the walkers head clean off. "I have to...I have to find your father. I will be back. I promise."

She shut the cell door, trying her damnedest to ignore the shrill sobbing cries of the girls as they hugged each other tightly, tears streaming down their faces.

…

"Ryan," Carol called out, "Ryan, please, come with me." He seemed dazed, and he looked up at her slowly, gripping his arm with his hand, blood flowing thickly through his fingers. "If we act now, I can save you, but you've got to come with me now. Please."

He surged to his feet and as she glanced over his shoulder, she saw Luke trip over and land sprawling on the ground on his back, his dark brown eyes wide with fear, his terrified pitiful cries reaching out to her. She felt frustration and desperation seethe within herself as a walker stumbled across to where he lay, knowing damn well that she couldn't reach him in time.

She twisted her head to the side as she grabbed quickly at Ryan, tugging on his uninjured arm, her eyes wide as she felt the air whistle next to her, and she watched in stunned disbelief as a dart thudded solidly into the walkers head, Daryl racing swiftly past her and quickly scooping the boy up in his arms.

"I got him," Daryl called out to her, and she nodded in relief as she pulled Ryan with her, his gait slow and stumbling as he gasped in pain, still clutching at his arm.

They got to his cell and she shoved the thin drape aside as she helped lower him to his bunk. He lay back on the thin mattress, his eyes closing in pain, sweat beading at his brow and running down his temples. "You...you can save me?" he asked.

"Yes, but I'm going to have to amputate your arm." She gripped her knife tightly, reaching down and picking up a leather belt from off the floor. "Here," she said as she awkwardly looped the belt with one hand and slipped it over his injured arm. She tightened it, and grabbed at a rag, holding it to his mouth. "You have to bite on this."

He looked at her in confusion as she reached her hand under his neck, twisting his head to face hers. "It's the only way, I'm sorry."

"It's happening, isn't it? But...you...you can _save_ me?" he asked again.

She leaned over him, tears springing to her eyes as she saw the bite mark at the back of his neck. The frustration raged within herself again and she looked at him, shaking her head. "I'm sorry," she whispered, "I'm so sorry."

"My girls," Ryan said, closing his eyes and wincing against the pain. "Lizzie and Mika. You care for them, I've seen it," he breathed slowly, pain filling his voice. "They don't have anybody else. Kid's on their own, they don't have a chance. Can you look after them for me? Treat them like their your own?"

"Yes. Yes I can," she promised, looking up quickly as Lizzie and Mika entered the room, Mika's distraught wailing echoing throughout the cell.

"No...no," Mika cried. "Please, not my dad? No, please no."

Carol tore her eyes from them, looking back at Ryan, "You need to let them say goodbye. Okay?" she said, fighting back tears as she cupped his chin with her hand, her fingers softly stroking his thick wiry beard. "Okay?"

He nodded weakly in answer, and she felt the tears start to trickle down her cheeks and she sniffed quickly, biting at her lip.

"We have to let Doctor S look at him?" Mika pleaded. "Please?"

Carol shook her head, "I'm sorry. Honey, he's been bit. The doctor won't help." She turned away quickly as the girls held onto their fathers hand, she tried to block out Ryan's pain etched voice as he weakly said, "Take care of your sister."

Lizzie cried out suddenly, and Carol turned back to them, rubbing at her tear streaked eyes as they called desperately out to him. "It's time," she said softly.

"No," Mika wailed. "No."

"You can wait outside if you want, okay? But you know what I've got to do. What we're always supposed to do."

"We should be the ones to do this," Lizzie said softly, and Carol looked at her in surprise.

She desperately wished that she could spare them from this, from seeing their father in this way, but all the lessons that she'd been teaching them had been to prepare them for things such as this. She hated herself for thinking it, for saying it, noting the way that Mika was wrapping her arms around herself, shaking her head in denial.

"No," Mika whimpered. "I...I can't." She watched as her sister pushed her way past her, fumbling at her waist for her small knife.

"Lizzie?" Carol frowned, "Are you sure?"

"You taught us," Lizzie nodded firmly, her eyes never leaving her fathers now still and lifeless form. "You taught us. I can do it."

"You have to do it now, right now, okay?" she said, watching as Lizzie nervously approached her fathers body, the small knife gripped tightly in her hand. "Because you have to do it before he turns. I'll stay right here-you remember what I showed you to do?"

Lizzie nodded quickly to her, her hand shaking slightly as she touched the blade to her fathers head. She turned quickly, "I can't do it," she sobbed suddenly. "I can't. I'm sorry Carol. I can't do it."

"Lizzie," Carol called out, "Lizzie, it's okay. Go to your sister." She waited a moment as Lizzie shuffled across the room and as she pressed her knife to Ryan's temple, she heard the girls low sobbing, listened as Mika urged her sister to look at the flowers.

She glanced quickly over her shoulder, tears misting and blurring her vision as Mika wrapped her arm around Lizzie's shoulder, turning and making her face a small glass jar that held a few wild yellow flowers.

"Breathe Lizzie, please. Count to three with me. One...two-"

"No," Lizzie cried. "I...I can't-"

"You can Lizzie," Mika urged. "Look at the flowers. One, two...three-"

Carol turned away from them and pushed the blade firmly through Ryan's temple. She stayed silent for a moment, running her fingertips gently across his forehead. The sound of the girls sobbing was ripping and aching her heart and she turned back quickly, wrapping her arms around them and holding them close, feeling the dampness of their tears seep through her thin jersey top. "I'm sorry," she whispered as she held them close. "I'm so sorry."

…

"What the hell happened out there?" Rick demanded as he paced restlessly across the cell block floor.

Hershel shrugged as he leaned his weight to a table top, "You need to do something about those hogs Rick," he said quietly. "It's how this has spread. Birds and beasts. We're all at risk from this virus-"

"Ain't gonna fucking die from no stupid assed flu," Daryl ground out.

Carol sighed as she watched them. It seemed so stupid that something so simple could have caused the mayhem that it had. But it was true. All of it. They'd spoken to Doctor S, and he had confirmed it to the best of his ability.

"Going to call a Council meeting," Rick said. "Need to decide what the hell we're going to do about this."

They all looked up quickly as the outer door swung open abruptly, watching as Merle strode in with Michonne following quickly behind him. "Rick," he called out. "Ya need to see this."

Rick sighed, "What now?"

"The fences? They're gonna fuckin' fall. Ya got the mother load of fuckin' biters pushing against them-"

"It's true," Michonne agreed. "We need to do something about this."

Rick ran his hands through his hair, his eyes fixed firmly on the ground. "What fucking next?" he snapped tiredly.

...


	53. 53-Isolation

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.**

* * *

...

"You have to stay there," Hershel said as he rose to his feet, watching as Merle and Michonne made to come across the room towards them. "The both of you, you can't come any closer. We've been at risk of exposure, more so than you."

"He's right," Daryl agreed, looking across at his brother. "You gotta listen to Hershel, man. Don't come any closer," he added as Merle sighed impatiently.

"Is Maggie out there, did you see her?" Glenn asked worriedly, rubbing the heel of his hand across his forehead, streaking his skin with dirt and drying blood.

"Yeah Kim, don't ya worry 'bout yer little woman. She's at the tower with Carl." Merle scowled as he glanced at Michonne, "This is bullshit. Why the hell we gotta stay-"

"It's a precaution," Hershel interrupted. "We've all been in there, in D-block where the outbreak took place. You and Michonne, Maggie and Carl haven't."

"The walkers? We need to get back out there," Michonne said pointedly. "It's going to become a problem if we don't act _now_."

Rick nodded in agreement as he looked across at them. "Daryl, Glenn, you're with me. Hershel...we'll need to discuss what has to be done, but for now-you and the others, stay put."

"I would advise that Michonne and Merle both wear scarves, wrap them around your mouths, your nose if you're going back out there with Rick. We can't take the risk with either of you."

"The hell?" Merle spat sourly as he glanced across towards Carol. She only nodded in agreement, taking a few steps backwards as she clutched her hands together.

"Let's do this," Rick said as he strode across the cell block floor, stopping and waiting impatiently as the others followed after him.

Carol watched as they left, the sounds of their boots on the cold hard floor echoing momentarily, the sudden squeal and slam of the outer door breaking through the sudden silence.

"So what now?" she asked after a moment, glancing down at her hands and rubbing them on the thigh of her pants. She could still Ryan's blood smudged into the fine lines and plains of her hands, streaked thickly into the skin.

Hershel dragged a chair across the floor and sat down, his hands resting on the tops of his knees. His head was downcast, white brows knitted together. "I haven't seen anything like this," he said quietly, glancing up at her. "This virus? This flu...it's fast and it's aggressive. We'll need to separate everyone that's been in contact. We don't know how this is spread, whether it's airborne or not. We can't take any risks. Judith, Bethy-"

"You're right. The young and the old are more susceptible." She pulled up a chair and sat across from Hershel, leaning her elbows to the table top. "There's the girls too. Lizzie, Mika. The other children." She looked up quickly as Hershel sighed, and frowned at him in concern. "Are you okay?" she asked softly.

He laughed, the sound small and tired as he rubbed absently at his beard then leant his hand to the table top. "I forget how old I am, I just need a moment to rest these weary old bones of mine."

She leaned across to him, placing her hand across his and stroking her fingers briefly across his knuckles, "You have nothing to apologize for," she admonished.

He smiled and rest his other hand across hers, patting the back of her hand. "We have a lot to do, Carol. I'm going to need your help in D-block with Caleb. Some of the...the ones that have survived possibly need amputations. We have to try to make them as comfortable as we can. We need a place for them to move-"

"How about A-block?" she suggested, raising her brows at the quick look he gave her. "It's clear, it was cleaned out a while back when the people from Woodbury first joined us. We can make beds up there, I can get the girls to help. Take their mind off what has happened...with everything, their father," she trailed off weakly, blinking back tears. "We've lost such a lot, Hershel."

"But we haven't lost everything. There's still hope," he said as he let go of her hand and got to his feet.

"I wish I had your faith," she replied.

"Sometimes," Hershel said as he walked slowly across the floor, glancing over his shoulder as she got to her feet and followed after him. "Sometimes faith is the only thing we have left to carry us through."

…

"How did it go out there?" Carol asked as Daryl leaned his back to the wall, his eyes watching and following her guardedly.

"You don't want to know."

She pursed her lips, "I do, and that's why I'm asking," she said as she prodded him in the ribs, smiling as he frowned at her. "Tell me, Pookie."

"Shit, not that. Ain't hearing ya call my brother no dumb assed names," he grunted.

"Do you really think Merle looks like a 'Pookie'?" she asked, raising an eyebrow humorously.

Daryl smirked as he shrugged his shoulders, "Fair point I s'pose. But don't ya go and call me that in front of him. Hell, I wouldn't live that down."

"You still haven't answered me, Daryl," she reminded as she leaned against the wall next to him, nudging her arm against his.

"You're a persistent woman, no-one ever tell ya that?" he said as he narrowed his eyes irritably. "A'right, I'll tell ya. Merle and 'Chonne were right. Fuck, was a lot of them walkers. Rick had a plan to lure them away. Give us a chance to reinforce the fences with wooden struts." Daryl sighed as he glanced away from her, "Rick-hell, he ain't taking it so good. He had to kill them hogs."

"I'm sorry. I know what they meant to him. What all of it meant."

"Yeah," Daryl grimaced. "When we left, he was back at the pig pen with Carl. Saw him give the kid his gun back an all."

Carol looked up at him in surprise, "He did?"

He nodded, "Last I saw, he was burning the whole damn place down. Reckon his farmin' days are ' bout done."

Carol didn't answer. Looking back on it now, it all seemed so far fetched an idea that they could actually make it work at the prison. To be safe and secure, locked away from the outside world, trying to live with the constant threat from the walkers, trying to live off the land. The months that they'd spent on the open road, after the quarry, after Hershel's farm should have reminded them that nothing like that was ever possible. They had all become complacent, and that was a dangerous thing in itself.

And now they'd lost people, good honest to God hard working people, and partly it was because of that damn complacency. She was guilty of it herself, despite trying to teach and guide the children to the dangers that lurked out there. Hiding behind walls had made them all soft, stupid and susceptible.

"Ya know Merle's pissed," Daryl said, breaking into her thoughts. "Rick and Hershel ain't letting him in here. Hell, he's madder than a wet fucking hen. Maggie ain't faring no damn better. She's lost without Glenn."

"It makes sense. We were in here when it happened and they weren't. Merle...is he okay?" she asked, looking at Daryl and chewing her lip worriedly.

"Hell, I'm sorry Carol. I know ya worry 'bout him. But he's fine. Just a big stubborn assed fucker, ya know how he is."

"I hope he doesn't do anything stupid."

Daryl laughed, "Merle wouldn't be Merle if he didn't go and do summat stupid."

"That doesn't exactly make me feel any better," she answered softly. She looked up quickly as Daryl laid his hand on her arm, his dark fringe falling into his eyes, and she wished for a moment that she could see those blue eyes of his, that she could read what he wasn't telling her.

"Ain't asked how it was for you," he said as he removed his hand, his eyes dragging from hers to inspect his fingers. He flexed his hand and dropped it to his waist, digging his thumb into his waistband of his dirt grimed pants.

"We had to do several amputations. I'm worried that they won't make it through the night," she sighed. "And if they don't? Then they are another threat to us. We don't need this happening again. Caleb suggested locking them in their cells and they weren't happy about it. But what can we do? We've made some beds up in A-block...but we can't do any damn thing until the Council agrees to it. No matter what we think...this has to be a joint decision. It's just so...frustrating. We still have dead and they need to be buried-"

Daryl huffed at that, "Merle wanted to burn them. Said it made more sense. But I gotta agree with Rick, they were our own people. We can't do that, burn them up like they meant fucking nothing. That ain't us."

"I agree. I promised the girls that they'd have a place to go and spend time to mourn their father. They need that. Time to process and time to heal, a way to say goodbye. I..._we_ owe Ryan that much at least."

They fell silent for a while and Carol risked a quick peek at him. He was looking tired, hell she knew they all were. She raised her hand and gently brushed the thick hair from his eyes, smoothing and tucking it behind his ear. He stared at her, his eyes blazing with an expression that she found that she couldn't quite read, and she saw his cheeks start to flush a delicate shade of pink.

"Are you okay, Daryl?" she asked softly as she stared back at him.

"Ain't got no choice. I gotta be," he replied.

They almost jumped apart, her hand falling away from him as Sasha rounded the corner, her boots thudding heavily on the concrete, "Come on," she said quickly as she watched them. "Meeting in the library. Glenn and Hershel are there now."

…

"A-block isn't that much of an upgrade," Glenn said as he covered his mouth briefly with his hand, blinking rapidly. Sweat beaded at his brow and trickled down his temple. He sagged in his seat, resting his weight on his arm as he leaned on the wooden table top. "You're wanting to put them in death row? Isn't that kind of ironic?"

"It's clean and it's clear," Daryl shrugged noncommittally.

"It's a good idea," Sasha answered. "We should separate those at risk."

"We also need to separate ourselves from the group. We've all been in contact with those that have been infected," Hershel reminded them. "I need not remind that the young and the old are more vulnerable. Judith and Bethy haven't had any contact and I'd like to keep it that way. Same goes for Carl. I suggest that we move them to the administration levels. As for ourselves, we stay here until they have been moved. Then we can go back to C-block, but not until then."

"What about Merle, Maggie, Michonne. Andrea?" Daryl asked. "Hell, even Zach. Not everyone was there in D when the shit hit the fucking fan. Most of them others were taking watches or coming back from runs."

Hershel sighed, "I'm doubting that they'd want to remain in the towers. Or go back out there."

"Don't forget my brother as well," Sasha said quickly. "He was with us. Bob too."

"We could move to B-block," Carol suggested. "I know it's out of the way, but then at least we wouldn't be exposing ourselves to either group, and we can still keep a watch on A."

"Is it clear?" Sasha asked frowning, "Because the last I heard there were a few problems with walkers back there."

"Wouldn't take so long to clear and barricade it," Daryl answered. "I can do that, I guess maybe Tyreese, Bob and Glenn?"

"You got it," Glenn said quickly.

Daryl glanced around the room, his eyes scrutinizing them. "Then that's it. Unless y'all got a problem with that?"

"What about the children? They were in D," Carol asked. "I could take them with me. They don't have anyone else now." Even as she asked the question, she knew that there was no way she was going to leave them behind. She was all that they had now and it was her duty to care for them as Ryan had asked her to do. And she would do it without question. Her heart ached for them and for their loss, and she hoped...that if it had been a different story and that she had died and Sophia had lived, that there would've been somebody to care and look out for her, to treat her as their own.

"Those children are in good hands," Hershel said softly. "Do as you see right, Carol."

Daryl shifted restlessly in his seat, before pushing his chair away abruptly, the legs squeaking harshly on the wooden flooring. "We still got dead that's gotta be buried."

"If you're going out there," Hershel said as he looked up at him, "Wear a mask. And keep yourselves away from the others."

"Ain't no problem, man," Daryl nodded.

They all glanced up quickly at the sound of coughing coming from outside of the library, and Carol frowned at the sound. She got up quickly and walked to the entrance, peeking her head around the corner. Tyreese was walking with his arm around Karen's shoulder, and the other woman had her hand held to her mouth, her body racked with the abrupt bout of a coughing fit.

Carol stepped out into the corridor, watching them both warily. "Is she alright?" she asked.

"She's good," Tyreese smiled. "Ain't nothing big."

Karen looked at her as she dropped her hand from her mouth, and she smiled. "It's nothing, I'm fine," she reassured.

"Just going to take her back to my cell," Tyreese said, his eyes widening as Hershel stood next to Carol, watching them both intently.

"I wouldn't recommend that," Hershel said. "Judith is there. She can't go back to your cell Tyreese, and neither can you."

Tyreese frowned, "Then where can she go?"

"It's nothing, I'm telling you," Karen stated quickly, glancing from Hershel to Carol.

"The tombs for now, until we get A and B-block sorted," Daryl grunted. "Ain't gonna be s'long, but I need ya to help me Ty, bury the dead."

"Yeah, of course," Tyreese answered. "But hey...this with Karen. She's gonna be alright?"

"Ty, there's nothing wrong with me. It's just a cough," Karen answered, her hand reaching out to touch at his arm that was draped around her shoulders.

"Keep it that way, baby," Tyreese soothed.

"David was coughing too you know," Karen said as she looked at them. "I'm sure it doesn't mean a thing."

Carol watched them both as they walked to the corner of the corridor, their voices low as they spoke softly to each other. She stiffened as she heard Karen's raspy cough echoing back towards them. Daryl nudged her shoulder, but she ignored him- instead she focused on the sound. Karen wasn't going to be alright. And neither was David, and she was damned if she was going to take the risk either. She couldn't let anything happen to the children-to those girls, she'd made a promise and she was going to stand by it. For better or worse, those girls were her girls now and she would look after and defend them as best as she could.

She was a mother again.

"You a'right?" Daryl asked at her side.

She took one last look in Karen and Tyreese's direction, suddenly knowing what it was that she had to do. She looked up at him, smoothing and controlling the conflicting emotions that she didn't want him to see on her face. "Everything will be just okay, Daryl," she smiled.

…

The afternoon light was fading, slowly giving way to early evening as she stood outside at the fences with Mika and Lizzie. There were numerous bodies piled up at the fence lines, the others in the group had been to busy with the task of burying the dead and reinforcing the fences with the thick wooden struts carved from the limbs of the many trees that surrounded the prison at both sides.

The pig pen was still burning, casting a fiery afterglow that burned at the retinas if it was looked on too intently. Carol sighed as she turned from the sight, her hand reaching out and resting on Lizzie's shoulder. The young girl was sobbing, and her heart wrung with the sound.

"He's dead. He's dead and he was special," Lizzie sobbed.

"I'm sorry sweetheart. I really am," she soothed.

Mika shifted restlessly at her side, her eyes wide and never leaving her sister.

"He's gone-"

"I know," she said. "It's okay to feel like this Lizzie. He was your father-"

"No! No, you don't get it," Lizzie cried, her eyes blazing angrily. "They killed him...and he didn't do anything to them. He's gone. Nick-they killed him."

"Nick?" Carol breathed out slowly. Lizzie pushed herself away, stopping as Carol tightened her grip on her shoulder. "This is about...a walker?" she asked in disbelief.

"I told you. You wouldn't understand," Lizzie blurted out.

Carol frowned as she stared past the chain links. She could vaguely make out the walkers body with a nameplate attached to its chest. "Those things...out there? They're dead Lizzie. They are not like you and me. They're walkers, and they will attack and eat you first chance they get. Do you understand?" she said as she tightened her grip on the young girls shoulder, turning her to face her. "Do you understand what I'm saying? Don't you feel sorry for them."

Lizzie sagged, her one hand grasping at the fence, her fingers slipping through and curling around the metal. "He's gone," she sobbed.

"You feel sorry for your father, not those things out there," Carol said softly. "Grieve for your father."

"I...I'm sorry," Lizzie cried out.

Carol let go of her, and gripping the knife in her hand, she knelt in the long grass, grasping a plant by its stem and snipping off a few of its yellow blossoms. "Here," she whispered, tucking the flower behind the young girls ear. She was rewarded by a sudden tearful smile that ached her. "It isn't weak to cry for your father."

Lizzie slipped her hand into hers, and Carol smiled as the girl took the knife from her hand and slipped it back into the small sheath at her waist. They stood a few moments, Lizzie's earnest gaze burning its way into her heart, before the young girl pushed herself away and ran back up the dirt track towards the prison.

Carol sighed as she watched her, turning to Mika. "She's weak-" she started to say.

Mika shook her head earnestly, staring up at her with wide blue eyes. "Lizzie isn't weak. She's messed up, but she isn't weak."

…

She'd spent so much of her time being consumed with the girls and their well being that she hadn't noticed that the afternoon had slipped quickly into nightfall, but as she stared through the barred window at the moonlight, she wondered for what felt like the hundredth time what Merle was doing and where he was now.

She glanced at the bright orb of the moon in the dark sky, its paleness sending slivers of light that shone and touched at the corners of the cell block. She stiffened at the sound of coughing- it felt like it was coming from almost every direction, but she knew that it was nothing more than an illusion of the night. The quietness echoed almost with a sound of its own, marking and muting everything in its wake.

She sighed, not wanting to return back to the emptiness of an unknown unfamiliar cell. B-block seemed so markedly different to their own section of the prison.

She missed him. She missed him with a pang that tugged sharply and painfully at her heart. She missed his coarse gravelly laugh, his abruptness, his sour and rough but gentle manner with her. She longed and ached to feel his strong arms around her, holding her tight and shielding her against the misery that every single night would bring.

None of this was doing her any good. She couldn't dwell on it and him.

The cell was sparse, not unlike her own. Undecorated unlike the majority of the residents of the prison, and she found that it suited her. The reedy yellow light from the oil lamp barely pushed away the dark shadows. She sat on the thin mattress on the bunk, feeling the springs digging into her. Restlessness ate at her, the desire to make things right and the need to nurture and protect battling within herself.

She had to give them all a chance... to do something _now_, to do something that the others would balk at. It was her duty, she couldn't lose anyone else and she was damned if she would lose her girls, lose Judith, or Carl. And she was without a doubt that she would be damned if she would lose Merle or Daryl either. They were her family, and she loved them both without question.

Rick's words from the previous night drifted back to her, and she clasped her hands tightly in her lap as she remembered. Rick would do anything to protect them-to protect what was his...he'd told her just as much.

"_I've had to make decisions, hard choices I'm sure that everyone isn't happy with. But I've had to make them. I'll do what I can to protect this group. You're not stupid Carol. You know exactly what is out there...what we face daily. You have to do what you feel is the right damn thing at the time to protect your own. Your family. The group as a whole. You've been teaching the children, and I know I'm not exactly happy about any of that-but, you're doing what you think- what you feel is the best to survive. To give them a chance. It's what I do."_

She swallowed quickly, her resolve hardening. Rick was right. You _had_ to do whatever was in your power to safeguard what was yours.

She got to her feet slowly, her hand reaching out and grasping at the knife at her waist. She curled her fingers around the brass handle, the cool chill of the metal almost soothing the warm burn of her skin. She pushed aside the thin shower curtain that served as the doorway to her temporary cell, and she glanced once more at the faint light of the moon as she made her way quietly towards the tombs.

...

Karen lay sleeping restlessly on the bunk, a thin blanket pushed half way around her waist, one hand dangling off the frame of the bunk, her silver bracelet gleaming in the light of the moon. Carol paused as she stood at the doorway, watching the curly dark haired woman intently.

In the thick still silence, she could hear the other woman's heavy labored breathing, and as she stepped into the cell, she almost lost her courage as she saw the tell-tale streaks of crimson brimming at the corners of her eyes and bloodily at her nostrils.

Karen's breath was gurgling tightly and painfully in her throat, and Carol stepped closer, her eyes softening and dampening with tears of despair. She wished that there was some other way, but even as she thought it, she knew that there wasn't. Time was running out, no matter how cruel or damned unfair it all was.

It was already starting, and she didn't know how much more time Karen had left. The flu...the damn fucking flu was marking its presence heavily on the other woman. Carol found that she couldn't bear to hear the struggle and torture of her labored breathing any longer. This...what she was about to do was an act of mercy.

She knelt by the bed, one hand touching at the mattress in the faint silvery light of the moon. "I'm so sorry Karen," she sobbed quietly as she raised her knife. "I wish there was another way."

…

She was thankful for the foresight that had made her bundle a pile of her clothing, hidden in one of the shower stalls, and as she stepped under the chill water, she felt nausea hit and burn harshly at her throat. She grasped the cool porcelain of the shower cubicle, feeling her way in the semi-darkness to the toilets, and she knelt on the hard unyielding floor, lifting the toilet lid and gasping as she doubled over, waves of panic and nausea clawing its way out of her throat. She vomited- her breath gasping, tears streaming down her cheeks.

It was no surprise to her that she should feel this way. She could still smell the blood and gasoline as it clung to her skin. Her nose still burned with the stench of charred flesh. She doubled over and vomited again, leaning her head to the toilet seat as the waves of nausea passed by. She got to her feet shakily, and groped her way back to the cubicle, lifting her face to the coldness of the water as it finally cleansed her.

She dried herself with one of the harsh sun dried towels, the roughness of it scratching against her skin. She scooped her clothing up, dragging it on and without a second glance, she stepped out of the shower room towards the laundry, the need to scrub the blood from off her clothing burning her in all its guilt.

Finally, she made her way back to her own unfamiliar cell, laying back on the hard thin mattress, feeling the springs dig into her ribs. She closed her eyes, wondering if she would find sleep anytime soon.

A noise outside of the cell made her sit up quickly and she slid off the bunk, grasping her knife. She listened for a moment, swaying slightly in the dark, listening to the slight swoosh of the drape as it was shoved abruptly away, and she stepped forwards quickly, holding the blade in front of her.

"For fuck's sake mouse! That's a second time ya tried to skewer my fuckin' guts with yer goddamn pig sticker."

She sagged, tears prickling behind her eyes. Merle stood in the darkness, his hand reaching out and grasping her around the elbow. "Ain't no way to greet me, ya know?" he stated humorously.

"What the...why the hell are you here?" she bit out, suddenly angry. "You shouldn't...just go Merle. Leave, please. You shouldn't be here."

"An' why the fuck not?" he questioned as he moved closer, the shower curtain slipping from across his shoulder.

"You know damn well why," she said. "Go."

"I ain't going. Don't tell me to, 'cause I ain't gonna listen. I've missed you, mouse."

"Please," she urged, the knife drooping in her hand and falling to the ground in a clatter. "Hershel said-"

"Don't give a shit," he shrugged, moving closer again, his hand tightening on her arm and pulling her nearer to him.

He was so close that she could feel the heat that his body gave off, and as much as she wanted him-she wanted him to go, to leave her. She couldn't risk him being here. "_Please_," she said weakly. "We..._I_ could be infected-"

Merle let go of her arm, and she stumbled slightly in the dark, stiffening as he caught her chin with his hand. He stepped closer and pressed his lips to hers. "There. Ain't no big deal," he said softly. "Looks like if you're infected...then so am I."

She placed her hand on his chest and pushed him angrily away, tears brimming in her eyes, and he faltered as he took a step backwards. "You stupid...stupid fucking fool of a man," she cried bitterly. "Why the hell would you do that?"

"Why?" he rasped thickly, stepping closer. "'Cause there ain't nothin' on earth that's gonna keep me away from you, darlin'."

...


	54. 54-Fire

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.**

* * *

...

There was something wrong and Merle wasn't a complete idiot to _not_ notice, he just didn't want to _admit_ it to himself. He knew that Carol would be pissed with him for what he'd done, and he could deal with that. Hell- if she'd done the same damn thing, he would've been annoyed as fuck with her too. But it was true what he'd told her-he wasn't prepared for anything to stop him from being with her, and shit...there was nothing that was going to stop him being near his brother either.

He'd quit and run too many fucking times in the past, and it was only _now_ that he was starting to really understand what it meant to have 'family' here, and in this present time. To _really_ have family around-something to live and something to damn well fight for. He'd thought he'd been done with that shit when he'd lived in Woodbury- having no family meant no emotional bonds, nothing to hold him back, nothing to make him pathetic, slow and weak. He could live how the hell he chose, fuck whoever he wanted to fuck without any responsibilities. He'd been someone there-someone powerful, strong, someone of actual damned importance...but he'd always been lonely, even if he'd never admitted that to himself.

It wasn't until he'd been accepted into the prison with her and his brother that he realized it all meant jack fucking shit. It meant nothing. At Woodbury, he'd only been a pathetic newer version of his old worthless self before the turn, when it had been nothing but him and Daryl and their brutal bastard of a father.

He'd been an asshole back then. Now-he was an asshole that badly wanted to change, wanted to be someone that he didn't know could even live inside of him. It mildly annoyed him that Carol was right-caring for people didn't make you weak. It gave off a fierce fire that burned in the gut, a goddamn stubborn assed drive and determination that made him want to stay, made him want to do anything that he could to protect those that he actually gave two fucking shits about. Yeah, he'd always cared for his brother, even if he'd been too fucked in his mental state to do much about it. But now shit was a whole lot different, he was starting to believe in himself, that he wasn't such the cowardly bastard he'd always thought he was.

Merle shifted on the bunk, the weight of the woman sleeping drowsily on his chest pinning him slightly and he sighed as he buried his nose into her hair. His suspicions piqued again as he thought he could smell the faint scent of gasoline in her hair, on her skin, the scent of whatever girly shit she'd used to shower herself unable to mask the underlying pungent aroma.

She'd told him it was nothing more than the oil from the lamp in the cell, and he'd watched her carefully as she had avoided his gaze, as she carefully avoided his questions.

Laying on the bunk he tried to tell himself that it was nothing, but she seemed so uneasy, almost as if she was scared. She was trying to hide something and she was good at it too-and if he didn't know her as well as he damn well did, he might have been fooled. But he wasn't. He just didn't want to acknowledge that something was so wrong that it had her rattled. She was one of the most cool nerved calm assed people that he'd ever known, and if she was acting like this...skittish and unnerved-

He closed his eyes, not wanting to think anymore on it. He'd wait til the morning and he would get to the bottom of whatever shit had gone down. Maybe it was something Rick had done. Merle wouldn't be surprised by that. That jackass had gone done plenty bad decisions and shitty choices at the cost of others. Why the fuck would this flu outbreak be any different.

The weight from his chest was removed quickly, the bed at his side dipping as much as the thin mattress and fucking annoying springs would allow. Carol sat up, staring across to the doorway in the dark, and he snapped open his eyes in irritation.

"Did you hear that?" she asked softly.

"Didn't hear a damn thing. Go to sleep."

"Merle, I heard someone coughing-"

"So fuckin' what?" he grumbled. "Ain't nothing ya can do 'bout it now, so shut up an' get back to sleep."

She didn't answer and she didn't lay back down, so he sat up wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her to him. She sat stiffly against him, her back to his chest, her hair catching in the beard covering his chin.

"You need to sleep darlin'," he murmured softly at her ear. "Fuck knows we both got a lot to do in the mornin'. I gotta avoid ole man Hershel...and hell, Daryl too. Ain't wantin' them both tripping on my ass."

"It isn't funny Merle."

"Weren't sayin' it was," he smiled. "But we both know they ain't gonna be so happy to see me in here."

"And who's fault is-" she paused, her head twisting to the side. "You didn't hear _that_?"

Merle narrowed his eyes in the dark, listening. He could make out the faint rasp of a muffled cough echoing in the distance of the prison wing. "Yeah...I heard it," he admitted. "I told ya, ain't nothin' to be done, not until the mornin-"

"I didn't do enough," she said suddenly and quietly, bitterness tinging her voice. "It's too late."

"The hell ya talking 'bout, mouse?" he questioned, suspicion making the blood start to pulse thickly in his veins. "Ya got summat you're wanting to tell me, huh?"

"Nothing," she answered. "It's nothing. You're right, we should go back to sleep."

She pushed against him and he lay back down, his arm slipping around her as he held her close to him. She curled her hand on his chest, her head tucking under his chin, and as he closed his eyes, he wondered at the fact that he suddenly felt afraid.

…

Carol had gone by the time he woke up, and he stretched the kinks out of his body, easing himself off the mattress and staring down at his mud grimed boots. They'd both slept with their clothes on-the unusual and strange surroundings making it a necessity for them both to be prepared, and if any shit had gone down in the night-fumbling and trying to tug clothing on would cost them valuable time. He grabbed at the sheath at his waist and tugged the bayonet out, grasping it awkwardly as he fastened it to his prosthetic limb.

Merle longed for a cigarette but the annoying fucking truth was that he'd run out the day before. He hadn't see Daryl with a smoke either, so he knew there was no point in raiding them from off his brother. He pushed himself sourly off the bed, not even casting a second glance back as he paced irritably across the cell wing, stopping when he saw Hershel and Sasha.

"I was just saying to Sasha," Hershel nodded at him in quick greeting, before turning his eyes back to the woman at his side. "There's been a few more outbreaks in the night. This damn flu strain, it's quick."

"Fuck," Merle rasped as he scowled at them. He scuffed his boot on the ground, "Ya seen my brother? Is he okay?"

"Daryl's fine-he's out at the fence lines clearing the walker bodies with Bob. Burning them," Sasha replied.

Merle huffed, the irony smacking him. "None of ya asses would let me do that yesterday."

"We don't burn our own people, we bury them," Sasha said quickly.

"Whatever," he shrugged, glancing at the old man and dismissing her. Hershel was staring at him pointedly, and Merle realized his mistake. "Huh, now don't ya go an' give me grief ole man. I'm here an' there ain't nothin' any of you can do 'bout it, so don't bother wasting yer breath. I ain't listening."

"Stubborn," Hershel murmured, sighing. "Well, as you are here, you could go and help your brother. We need all the extra hands we can get-"

"I only got the one," Merle rasped, raising an eyebrow. "Ya sure that gonna be enough, huh?" He took some small degree of satisfaction at the embarrassment evident on their faces. "Now, any of y'all gonna tell me if you've seen Carol any damn where?"

"She's been helping to move some of the infected into A-block." Hershel paused for a moment, watching him carefully. "Lizzie Samuel's...she's sick. Carol's with her now."

"Christ," Merle spat, rubbing at his beard. She wouldn't take this well, and he worried about her. He wanted to go and see, offer what comfort he could, even if she was still pissed with him. He'd ignore that fact, he usually did.

"If you're going out there with Daryl, you need to wear this," Hershel said, breaking into his thoughts, and Merle glanced down at the bandana in the old mans hand. "Just a precaution."

"Yeah, I hear ya Hershel," he said, freezing as Sasha took the bandana and stepped closer towards him. "What the fuck do you think _you're_ doing?"

She glanced down at his prosthetic arm and shook her head as she reached up to him, pacing back warily as Merle snatched the bandana from off her. "You ain't got to do that," he snapped angrily. "Don't ya touch me. I ain't fuckin' useless. "

"No, you're not," Sasha replied.

Merle glared at her as he shoved himself abruptly away from them, striding down the corridor. The whole bunch of them were making him feel like a goddamn pussy.

"When you see Bob," Sasha called out, "Tell him I'll be down later with some water. Someone's gotta look out for that idiot man."

Merle thought he could hear the smile in her voice and it surprised the hell out of him. He'd have never pictured the ice princess liking someone like _Bob_.

…

They'd been hard at it for a few hours, Daryl driving the truck as Bob and himself stacked the dead biters onto the low bed trailer, then transporting them to the large glowing bonfire set some distance outside of the chain links. One of them would take alternate watch as the others pulled the biters and man handled them into the flames, the fire greedily sizzling as rancid body fats and flesh burned greasily and thickly, spewing up fumes of dark acrid smoke.

Merle was thankful for the bandana wrapped tightly around his mouth and nose, but even so he could still smell the rank scorched scent as it burned at his nostrils. He'd since learnt to work in silence- he'd opened his mouth once too often and as a reward he'd had a lungful of charred biter flesh. He found that he didn't think he'd be eating anytime soon. Not with that fucking taste still etched into the back of his throat.

He cocked an eyebrow humorously at Bob's sudden yelp of disgust and he glanced towards Daryl, seeing the same expression on his brothers face. Bob had tugged so hard at one of the biters on the trailer that he'd pulled its leg off, and Merle found the sight too damn funny. Bob stood at a loss what to do, a semi rotten leg gripped in his gloved hand by its ankle.

"Ya want us to leave the two of ya alone?" he called out, his voice muffled behind the fabric.

Bob's eyes widened as he carried the leg over to the bonfire, tossing it into the flames. "You really think that's funny. It isn't," Bob said sourly. "It's pretty disgusting is what it is."

Daryl came over and prodded him in the back. "It's gotta be done, man."

"It's necessary, yeah I see that," Bob said, glancing up quickly. "Now..._now_ that's a sight for sore eyes."

Merle followed his gaze, snorting softly as Sasha appeared at the chain links, bottles of water clutched to her chest.

"Ain't got much more left ta move," Daryl said at his side, and Merle twisted his gaze beyond them, staring back up at the fencing at the dozen or so biter bodies left strewn in the long grass. "'Nother one...maybe two trips, don't ya reckon?"

"Jus' want this shit done," Merle grunted. "Fuckin' stinks worse than you, little brother."

"Asshole," Daryl said as he pushed past him, taking the bottles off Sasha as she squeezed through the gap in the metal links. She threaded the red wire back through the fencing, securing it. "Thanks," he said, offering bottles to Merle and Bob.

Merle tugged the bandana from off his face as he stepped further away from the fire, and he gulped down the cool clear liquid, sighing as it soothed the burn in his throat. Maybe another hour and they'd be done with this shit, and as much as he was liking being out in the open and away from the confines of the prison, he found himself longing to be back. They all stunk. He wasn't so sure that even a long damn shower wasn't going to clean the stench off them anytime soon.

Daryl had swigged down half of his water and the rest he'd tipped over his head, and Merle smiled at the sight of his little brother, with his dark overgrown hair hanging wetly and limply across his face, obscuring his eyes.

"What ya looking at?" Daryl frowned as he raked his fingers through his fringe, pushing it back from off his face.

"Ya look like a drowned pup," he remarked quietly. "Remember the time we found that dog, Daryl? Pissy little fuckin' runt. Didn't think it'd make it through the night."

"It nearly didn't," Daryl reminded him. "The ole man-"

Merle shrugged. "The ole man got his way in the end, don't ya remember? Ya tried to get the damn mutt drunk."

Daryl glanced quickly away from him, water dripping from the ends of his hair. "Merle, I don't want-"

"I know brother," Merle said abruptly. "I don't want to either, but...ya know I got the marks from that, huh? The ole man made sure it was a lesson I'd never forget."

"I got 'em too," Daryl said softly. "You ain't the only one."

Merle frowned and stared at the ground, the bottle of water dangling loosely in his hand. "I carried 'em marks long before you came along. Don't ya ever forget that, Daryl."

"It gets better Merle. Ya don't think it ever fucking does, but yeah brother. It does. In the end."

Merle looked at him surprise, saw the way that his brother was staring softly at him. "Aw hell, get out of here, man," he grunted, pushing at Daryl, nudging him so he stumbled back a step. "Ya lil pansy."

Daryl smirked, then looked away quickly as Rick appeared at the fence line.

"The hell is wrong with officer fuckwit?" Merle asked, staring narrowly at the worried expression pasted on Ricks face.

"Daryl, I need you to come with me," Rick said quickly, his fingers curling into the chain links, the fencing shifting as he leaned his weight to it. "We have a situation. I need your backup. Merle, you come too."

"A'right," Daryl said, throwing his empty bottle into the flames. "Bob, are ya good with this?"

Stookey nodded quickly, "As long as I get Sasha to keep me company then yeah, I'm perfectly fine with this."

"I'll stay and help," she answered, looking across to Rick. "You sure you don't need me-"

"No," Rick shook his head as he uncurled his fingers from the metal links, turning his back to them and striding back up towards the dirt track that led to the prison.

Daryl swiftly unfastened the wire and stepped through the gap, securing it after his brother. "You wanna tell us what the problem is Rick?" he called out.

"Tyreese. He's found something. You need to see this, both of you," Rick said curtly, and Merle glanced quickly at Daryl, his brothers eyes fixed warningly on his. They followed after the sheriff, Merle wondering what the fuck had gone on now.

...


	55. 55-Murder

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.**

* * *

...

Nothing was said as Rick led them through the tombs, the paltry light of the few electric bulbs flickering pathetically, casting everything in a faint yellow hue. Merle and Daryl followed quickly after him, not speaking, the silence of the tombs losing them in their own individual thoughts. Rick shoved the outer door abruptly open and they squinted in the sudden bright light, Daryl raising his hand to cover his nose at the pungent aroma that greeted them.

Tyreese stared at Rick, his eyes dark and wide. "You had to go and get _them_? Why?" he panted angrily. "You're a goddamn cop Rick...and all I see is you wasting time, delaying...letting whoever the hell did this get away!"

Merle looked away from Tyreese, his own eyes widening at the sight of the two blackened and still smoldering corpses laying on the grey concrete of the small enclosed courtyard. His eyes traveled across the ground, seeing the thick smeared tracks of blood. Somebody had killed these two fucks, dragged them out here and tried to burn the crap out of them.

"It's murder, is what it is!" Tyreese shouted. "They killed them and set them on fire! That's Karen..._my_ Karen, and that...that's David. Somebody did this in cold blood. They _murdered_ them. You've got a goddamn murderer in your prison Rick, and I ain't seeing you doing a single damn thing about it."

"We have to get the facts straight, go over the crime scene before we can start accusing anyone," Rick started to say, stopping and moving quickly to the side as Tyreese pushed himself angrily in his face.

"Is this what you do? Allow things like this to happen in _your_ prison? Karen didn't deserve this. David didn't deserve this!" Tyreese yelled as he pushed at Rick's chest with his hands, shoving at him hard and nearly knocking him off his feet.

Daryl stepped forwards, "Hey man, cool it down, we're on the same side. This ain't gonna-"

"You people talk a lot, but you do _nothing_," Tyreese sneered. "She's dead and you've got a killer in your prison! I told you about this Rick. Before you went and had to drag them here. I _told_ you...and all this damn talking and wasting precious time ain't gonna bring her back!"

"I know what you're going through," Rick said quietly. "Look, we've all lost someone. All of us. _We_ know what you're going through, but right now, you've got to calm down." He reached across and touched at Tyreese's shoulder with his hand.

Tyreese surged against Rick again, his fists flying as Daryl quickly grabbed at Tyreese and thrust him bodily to the wall, trying to lock his arms around his-trying to stop him from lashing out any more at the sheriff.

Merle was surprised as fuck when Rick finally went and lost it. The sheriff pulled at Tyreese and as they swung and traded punches, Rick got the upper hand and knocked Tyreese heavily to his knees, raising his foot and kicking viciously at Tyreese's stomach, the force sending the big man sprawling onto his back. Rick loomed over him, sweat and blood dripping from his hair as it hung in his face, his fists lashing out as he repeatedly punched the big man in the face. Blood sprayed up, and Merle rushed forward, grabbing hold of Rick's arm and pulling it backwards, receiving a vicious quick backhand to his face that undoubtedly...Merle thought sourly, had gone and bust his fucking nose up again.

"Stop it! Just stop it," Carol cried out suddenly from the opened doorway.

They all stopped and looked at her, Merle stepping back from the two men and spitting out a gobbet of blood onto the concrete. Daryl sighed heavily, leaning down and helping Rick get to his feet.

"You need to get that looked at," Daryl said quietly, glancing at Rick's hand as he held his own out, trying to placate Tyreese.

Rick tried to push himself away from Daryl, his hair hanging damply against his temples, blood dripping down his face. He raised his hand and looked at it dully, his eyes glazed and unseeing.

"I got this," Merle said as he stepped to the front of Tyreese, pressing his hand to the big mans chest. "Like my little brother said, ya need to cool it down big guy. Rick's gonna do what the fuck he can. Ain't no point losing yer shit like this, it ain't gonna help none."

Tyreese sighed heavily, staring at Merle through one eye. His other was already starting to puff up and close, blood crusting thickly, and Merle could see the tell-tale purple bruise already starting to appear under his eye.

"Yeah," Tyreese gulped, his breath tight and thick in his chest. "Yeah, you're right." He raised his head and glared at the former sheriff, "But you...you, Rick. You find out _who_ did this and bring them to me. Understand? You bring them to _me_. I don't care what you have to do. Just do it."

"Leave it, Ty," Daryl grimaced as he walked towards the door with Rick, his hand gingerly resting on the other mans arm, guiding him. "The man will do whatever the hell he can."

"I don't care. Do what you gotta do. I...I've gotta bury Karen and David. Can't leave them like this. I just can't," Tyreese gasped.

"We'll take 'em both, move them from here an' let ya bury them," Merle answered. "Jus' go an' calm yer shit down."

He watched as Tyreese shambled slowly out from the courtyard, his feet shuffling heavily as he walked through the corridor of the tombs, Merle half listening as the boot tread echoed and then faded into the distance. He looked at the bodies again, sighing. Some fuck had really done a number on these unfortunate assholes.

He'd almost forgotten that he wasn't there alone until he heard the sound of boots scuffing on the concrete, and he glanced around, staring in surprise as Carol leaned her back to the outer wall, her arms wrapped tightly about her. Her face was wan, drained of color, her eyes wide and shining vividly blue. Her gaze was fixed past him, on the bodies, and Merle felt that surge of fear and apprehension prick at his senses again.

He wondered...then dismissed the thought before it had the chance to form in his mind. It wasn't possible. She wasn't capable of shit like this.

"I should go...see how Tyreese is," she said quietly, dragging her eyes from across the floor up to his. Her gaze was quick and fleeting.

"Yeah," Merle sighed again, rubbing his hand wearily across his forehead. His nose hurt and stung like a bitch.

"Oh God, you...you're hurt," she said quickly, "I think there are some band-aids in... Merle, what happened here?"

He watched her carefully as he wiped at the blood on the bridge of his nose. "Was gonna ask ya the same damn thing. You ain't knowing nothing 'bout this?" he asked, indicating the bodies.

"Why would I?" she answered curtly, her hands dropping from her arms to clasp loosely at her sides.

He paced across the courtyard, standing just in front of her. She was trying her level best not to met his gaze. Whatever she was hiding...he was done with it-he just wanted her to tell him. He wasn't a complete stupid naive dumbass, he all to well remembered the faint smell of gasoline in her hair, on her skin. He remembered how stressed and uneasy she had been the night before. "Ya sure you ain't got nothing to tell me?" he insisted.

"There's nothing to say," she said, finally raising her head and meeting his gaze.

"You're fuckin' lying. I know what ya did. I ain't getting why ya jus' won't be honest with me."

She glanced away from him, pursing her lips into a thin tight line as she stared silently at the bodies on the ground.

"Thought we had no secrets," Merle shrugged. "Thought I knew ya, but turns out like everythin' else in my goddamn shitty excuse of a life that I'm fuckin' wrong." He knew what he was doing, he was trying to push her into answering him-this silence and placid defiance of hers was frustrating him. "You...huh, fuck it. I thought _you_ were different, but hell...ya ain't no fuckin' different to any other bitch I've fuckin' well known. You're all full of shit an' ya lie," he said bitterly.

"I need to go," she said, ignoring him as she tried to turn away and head for the doorway, stopping and staring at him as he grabbed at her arm. "Let me go, Merle. Please."

For a moment he felt confused and he wondered if he could've gotten this all so very wrong, and if he had- he'd probably gone and fucked up any chance of anything further happening between them. It wouldn't be the first time that he'd jumped the goddamn gun with her. Now he felt he was in to deep and he had to carry on accusing her; no matter the consequences and no matter how much of a shit it was starting to make him feel.

"Why the hell did ya do it?" he asked, twisting her arm and pulling her closer so that she couldn't look away from him. "I thought ya trusted me," he said tiredly. She still wouldn't look at him and she still wouldn't answer, and Merle knew then with a sinking feeling that she had done it. "I ain't gonna ya ask again. I _need_ to know, an' I need ya to tell me, Carol... for Christ's sake. Did ya kill 'em?" he demanded.

She bowed her head, the start of tears shimmering in her eyes. "I did it," she said so softly, that he had to strain his ears to hear her. "Yes, I did it. I killed Karen and David."

"Fuck!" Merle spat as he let go of her arm and shoved himself away. "Fuck it!" He glanced at her over his shoulder, saw the way that she was nervously watching him, then he looked away as he slammed his prosthetic to the wall. "Shit...it. Mother fuckin' shit it!"

She looked away from him, staring at the bodies, then sighed tearfully. "It...it was already starting, Merle. With the both of them. I...I did what I had to do, I didn't want it spreading. Karen...when I found her, she could hardly breathe. She was choking in her sleep. All I could think about was Judith, Carl...the girls. You and Daryl," her breath hitched in her throat. "I...I couldn't let anything happen-I couldn't take the risk. Something had to be done to try to stop it."

"Ya should've said somethin'. Any fuckin' thing. But ya didn't," Merle grated angrily. "Ya ain't gone an' thought any of this through." He had a sudden and horrible realization hit him. Tyreese was baying for blood and sheriff asshole would be like a dog with a goddamn bone. He'd find out who'd done this, and when he did..."Ya can't tell anyone 'bout this," he said quickly. "Not Rick, not even my baby brother. Ya tell no-one. I fuckin' mean it, mouse. Ya tell no-one. We keep this shit between us, ya got me?"

She raised her head slowly and looked up at him, and he suddenly felt so damned relieved to see the tears brimming thickly in her blue eyes, and as he watched, she blinked; the tears falling from her eyes and running down her cheeks to her jaw. He found then that he was in no position to judge her for what she'd done...fuck-he'd done worse back in Woodbury. A lot worse.

He felt overwhelmed, even though he couldn't totally believe nor understand the emotion flowing through him and pulling at his heart-all he knew was that he felt so damn well fucking _relieved_. It meant she wasn't no cold hearted killer and he was right all along. He _knew_ her. Even though she'd had her reasons and as fucked as they were, she'd been trying to do what she thought was right thing to do.

She raised her hands to her face, trying to smother down a sob, and Merle found that he couldn't bear it any longer. He closed the distance between them, pulling her to him and wrapping his arms around her as she buried her face into the side of his throat- her tears hot and damp against his skin.

"I'm gonna help ya," he soothed, pressing his cheek to the side of her head, his lips touching at her ear. He knew suddenly what it was that he had to do. "You ain't alone in any of this. Ya got me, for what it's worth darlin'."

"No," she said, trying to push herself away. She looked up at him, tears running down her cheeks as he didn't relinquish his hold on her. "Merle, please. _I_ did this-"

"You ain't got no say no more. Yer gonna let me help ya...do what I gotta do. Hell," he smirked tiredly, "They all think I'm an asshole anyway. They know I wanted to burn 'em corpses before...an' well...they ain't gonna believe none ya tell 'em. But me? Shit. They ain't gonna expect anything less. I can take whatever crap they wanna deal me. But you...mouse...I ain't gonna let ya fuck things up for yerself. You ain't got no say in any of this shit," he said firmly as she shook her head.

"I won't let you do that," she said tearfully. "I won't...and if you think I'm going to let that happen, you're wrong-"

"Mouse...hush it," he rasped quietly, ignoring the questioning look on her face. He could hear the faint tread of boots coming from the hallway, and he pulled her closer, trying to give her the chance to get her shit together as he watched as his brother suddenly appeared at the doorway.

"Christ. For fuck's sake you two, can't ya give it a fucking break?" Daryl grunted uncomfortably. "Acting like ya ain't nothing but a couple'a damn lovebirds. Y'all knowing this ain't exactly the time or place-"

"Ya know me all to fuckin' well little brother," Merle said quickly, glancing down as Carol swiped at her tears with the heels of her hands. He didn't want his brother thinking that he'd gone and upset her, like he'd done in the past. Daryl wouldn't understand shit with women if it was dealt to him on a silver fucking platter. And he didn't want him suspecting that any thing else was wrong either. "Since when did I ever give a fuck an' miss an opportunity for a goddamn grope, huh?" he leered, hoping that his brother in all of his naivety had missed what he was actually trying to do.

"Jesus, Merle," Daryl glowered. "Ya gonna help cover these up?" he asked, holding out thick heavy blankets in his hand.

"Yeah, yeah," Merle answered, holding Carol from view of his brother and waiting until she was composed. "Yer gonna be alright darlin'," he said softly. "Ya jus' need to think on what I told ya. Okay?"

She nodded and laid her hand on his chest, her fingers curling into his shirt and she leaned up and kissed his cheek, before standing back and away from him. She looked at him one last time, a small sad smile on her face, then she stepped away, smiling briefly at Daryl as she walked through the doorway and back into the darkened corridor.

Merle held his breath for a moment longer than he meant to, frowning when he saw the half amused expression painted on his brothers face. Irritably, he snatched one of the blankets off him, glancing once more back at the doorway, then he turned his back to it and leaned over one of the body's, covering it with the blanket the best way that he could, his awkward fumbling one handed grip and prosthetic arm not making the task easy.

"Ty's down there, digging graves," Daryl said, "Shit...he's diggin' 'em like he's summat possessed."

"Ain't surprised," Merle answered, sighing as he stepped back from the body. They'd wait until the smoldering calmed the hell down before lugging the corpses to the outer field. Let Tyreese bury and grieve over his dead.

"Whoever did this," Daryl said as he gently placed the blanket over the other body, tugging the corners of it in place. "They deserve a bolt through their sick fucking head."

Merle looked away from his brother, his resolve hardening. They wouldn't understand why she'd done what she'd done. None of them. And there was no way he'd let her be answerable to any of them. No way in hell.

…

Merle squinted in the bright sunlight and rubbed the back of his grimy hand over his forehead, wiping at the sweat that was starting to bead there. The stench of burning flesh at the fences was still acrid enough to make him want to gag despite the bandana wrapped around his nose and mouth.

Daryl had long disappeared several hours ago, the urgency of an unexpected Council meeting luring him away from the task at hand, leaving Merle alone with Tyreese, and one look at the big guys bruised and battered face was enough to make him want to spend some quality time with the burnt out biter corpses. He didn't want to face the other mans frantic hostile gaze, knowing what Carol had gone and done. He just hoped for her sake that she'd listened to him and was keeping the hell away.

The biters were still massing at the chain link, stupidly ignorant of the fate of the others, and Merle looked at them sourly as he stepped nearer, rattling the fences with a swift toe of his boot, watching as two turned their heads slowly to his direction.

"There's one here almost as good looking as you, Merle."

He glanced to his right, his mouth pulling downwards into a sneer. Andrea was looking across at him as she tugged her blade from the forehead of a biter, her blonde hair falling from the tie she'd used to tie it back, a lock hanging damply across her cheek as she raised her eyebrow at him humorously, the lower half of her face hidden behind a scarf.

"Yeah, like I ain't heard that before," he grunted, remembering a time at the biter pits with Milton and that goddamn asshole, Brownie. The fucker had said about the same damn thing to him then. He wondered for a moment, was he even still alive...had the Governor fucked with him like he'd done with everyone else? Merle huffed to himself, _i__f_ that bastard Brownie was alive and if he _ever_ tracked him down and found him-he'd make damn sure the cunt would stay put down. He'd kill him himself. An eye for a fucking eye, boot for a boot. He'd always remember and he'd never forget as long as he lived what Martinez had done to him. And those cock sucking Woodbury bastards had called _him_ the traitor?

Merle felt his already pissy mood sour further. He was in no mood for Andrea- was in no mood for Zach and his all too goddamn peppy little spit-fuck attitude. The kid was too damn happy, despite everything that was going on around him, and Merle found himself resenting the kid for that.

He twisted his head away from them, glancing back up towards the prison, watching as Tyreese stood leaning his weight against a shovel. He sighed, nothing was simple no more, but then again-it never really ever had been.

His head snapped back at the sudden sound of a muffled cough, and he stepped back from the fences warily, wiping the blood from his bayonet against the leg of his pants. Zach was shrugging Andrea's hand from off his arm as he covered his mouth, edging away and keeping his distance from her, and as Merle watched the kid pulled down his face mask, the tell tale start of crimson tinged saliva smearing at the corner of his mouth.

"Kid-" he started, then looked at the ground in sudden weary defeat. Nobody was safe from this goddamn flu. "Ya need to go an' see Dr. S."

Zach shook his head, "No, no it's fine, I'm good-there's nothing wrong with me." He raised his hand to his mouth, his eyes watering as he tried to smother back another cough.

"Zach, listen to him. Go and see Caleb. You might be right and this might be nothing at all. But just in case, you should go and see him," Andrea said worriedly.

"I'll take him," Merle grunted, frowning as Andrea made to come across to where they stood. "Keep the hell back, Blondie. Ya ain't knowing nothin'-"

"I know _this_ is fucking frustrating," she retorted.

"Jus' get yer ass back up that tower. We need someone that ain't sick to keep an eye out for Christ only knows what fuckin' next," Merle said irritably. "Jus' do it, an' don't ya come anywhere near us. I mean it," he spat as she stepped back away from them, sighing in frustration.

…

"Caleb has come down with it, so has Sasha, Glenn," Hershel said softly as he raised his head to look at him.

"Shit, I'm sorry, man," Merle said uncomfortably, watching the older man in concern. Hershel looked about beat and done in, leaning against the table with his head held in his hands. He seemed to have aged in hours.

There was a stack of books to Hershel's side on the table top, and Merle glanced at the thick volumes on herbology, quick quack cures, folklore and myths. He wondered just how desperate things were if the old man was pulling books from the library and looking to herbs and new age shit as an answer.

Hershel grimaced as he pulled up the dirty grey neckerchief wrapped around his neck, securing and smoothing his fingers over the fabric as he adjusted it around his nose and mouth. Merle thought with some sour humor that they must look like a bunch of pathetic joke cowhands-reminiscent of the old fucking western movies his Pa used to insist on watching when he was nothing more than a snotty nosed brat.

"I'll take Zach with me to A-block," Hershel said tiredly as he got to his feet, his eyes kind and sympathetic as he glanced at the younger man stood in the doorway. Zach clutched a wad of bloodied fabric to his mouth as he tried desperately to smother back a cough. Hershel dragged his eyes back and stared at Merle, his eyebrows knotting together in concern. "How are you feeling?"

"Ain't nothin' wrong with me, fit as a fuckin' horse," he replied, looking around the room and sighing. "Ya seen my brother? Carol?"

Hershel stepped across the library towards the younger man and paused, glancing over his shoulder, his hand resting momentarily on Zach's arm. "Daryl left with Michonne, Bob and Tyreese. There's an old Veterinary College, some fifty miles back at West Peachtree Tech. Nobody would've thought to have raided that place and the animal medicines there are the same and just as good as what we would use. Your brother has gone on a run, he left immediately- he insisted and wouldn't wait. We need those medicines, without them...I don't like to think of the outcome."

Merle nodded, that sounded like Daryl all right. Impetuous and impatient. "An' Carol? She gone with them?" he asked, watching as the old man and the kid made their way into the corridor.

"Carol?" Hershel frowned. "Didn't she say? She's gone with Rick, they left a few hours ago. Gone on a run to one of those new housing development areas. Rick said he thought he might know where there could be a few medicines, possibly enough to last until Daryl gets back with the others-"

"The hell?" Merle snapped, apprehension and fear curling suddenly in the pit of his stomach. "And ya let them fuckin' go?"

"Why would I stop them?" Hershel asked curiously.

"Never mind." His head was spinning, and he feared that Carol had gone and done something fucking stupid. Like admit what had really happened. He hoped against hope, but he couldn't deny the sinking feeling in his gut. One word sprang to his mind, and he desperately tried to ignore it, but it pricked at him urgently.

_Scott._

"I gotta go," Merle said suddenly.

"Merle, I don't know what the problem is, but she will be safe with Rick. He'll look out for her."

"Yeah," he spat angrily. Good old Rick fucking Grimes. He'd look out for her all right. Probably give her the same damn treatment he gave Scott.

He pushed past them, rushing out into the corridor, stopping and staring at the old man. "If ya see my brother... if Daryl gets back before I do-tell him that I ain't been running. We all got shit to do, and hell...I _gotta_ do this. He'll understand. But it ain't fuckin' running. Tell him I'm sorry, but I'll see him soon."

"Merle? I don't understand-" Hershel called out, but he ignored the old man, racing his way through the cell block, not stopping until he reached the now empty C-block and their cell.

He grabbed at the large backpack wedged under the bunk, feeling some small relief at the smaller bags absence. It seemed that she'd taken it with her. He pulled the straps over his shoulder, racing back through the wing, stopping at Michonne's cell, searching in hurried frustration, and then grabbing at the map that lay on her bunk. He thrust it into his pocket before heading off to the armory, taking the key and opening it up, grabbing at a rifle, boxes of shells, ramming them into the already near filled backpack.

He took one last brief look around, catching sight of the keys of the Jeep that his brother had driven when Rick in his infinite wisdom had sacrificed the damn piglets to the biters. He palmed the keys quickly and left, the outer door creaking and slamming firmly shut behind him.

…

It had been hours, fucking hours...and he was no nearer to finding either of them, and now anger, fear and desperation was starting to cloud his judgment. The longer it was taking, the more he was worrying the fuck over shit.

He glanced at the map resting on his knees as he drove. Ironically, there had been three of those fucking new development areas, and he'd wasted precious time searching and finding no sight or sign of them. There was only one last place left on the map that was within range, and as he pulled the car up, slowing down and parking, he felt a surge of relief that gave way to a quick and steady anger. He leaned down hurriedly in the seat, watching as Rick drove past in the Hyundai alone.

Part of him badly wanted to give chase, to stop Rick and ask him what the fuck he'd done exactly. Carol wasn't with him. The asshole was driving back to the prison, alone-as if nothing had fucking well happened. But Merle knew. Rick had gone and thrown her to the fucking wolves. Just like he did with everyone else that got in his way.

…

It was over another hour before he'd finally found her. She'd been driving some dirt encrusted station wagon-he'd been following slowly and keeping some distance behind, not completely sure if it was her...and now it was parked on the side of the road and she was stood outside, leaning with her back to the door, her shoulders shaking as she held her head in her hands.

He pulled up some distance away, parking underneath the heavy over hanging branches of the pine trees that lined both sides of the road, the litter of pale brown pine needles coating the tarmac thickly and densely.

He didn't want to startle her-he feared that if she saw him, she would just bolt, so he lay in wait, biding his time until he could make his move. He thought for a moment that she'd seen him-her hands dropped from her face and she moved quickly away from the car, and Merle watched in stunned disbelief as three figures stepped out from the treeline, two thickset men and a smaller, slender dark haired woman. They had weapons in their hands, pistols and rifles, and he ducked back down to the side of the Jeep, watching in frustration as Carol looked up suddenly at the figures.

Merle didn't know what the hell to do. He'd gone and wasted precious fucking time being cautious and now it was all he could do to stop himself from racing to her- but he knew that if he did, he'd probably endanger them both. He didn't know who the fuck these people were, or where the hell they'd suddenly come from. He was unprepared. He didn't know the area, their position, how many of those fuckers were hidden out there.

He crouched down further, the low sounds of muffled voices reaching down towards him. He couldn't hear what was being said as he pressed himself against the Jeep, his knees sinking into the damp muddy ground. He grasped at his colt, quickly thumbing the safety off.

He waited a few moments more, before twisting his head up and glancing in their direction, and he watched in sheer frustration as they formed a semi-circle around her and guided her back them with into the depths of the trees.

…

Grabbing his backpack off the seat of the Jeep, he thrust it quickly over his shoulder, his pistol gripped firmly in his hand as he slipped silently through the undergrowth. He was going to find her and he was determined that he'd fight to get her back, no matter what the fucking cost was.

...


	56. 56-Lost and Found

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.**

_a/n: I am feeling a little bit excited, nervous and somewhat apprehensive about this chapter. So much has changed now. This one has been in the planning for several long long months, and I am finally at where I've anticipated I'd be. New characters, a few new OC's and new scenarios coming up- I just really hope that I've managed to pull all of this off!_

_As always, thank you for being here with me._

* * *

...

Carol felt a trickle of apprehension that was quickly starting to border on fear seep its way slowly and insidiously down her spine as she glanced into the drivers rear view mirror. For the last few miles, the silver Jeep behind had been keeping its distance, but now it seemed that it was steadily gaining on her. She couldn't see who was driving- all she knew was that whoever it was, they were alone. Like her.

She bit down on her lip sharply as the car shuddered again, its speed decreasing as a loud knocking sound emanated from underneath the hood. All she'd wanted to do was to put distance between herself and where Rick had left... had _abandoned_ her... and now it seemed that even that was against her as the car pitifully slowed, almost coasting- despite her futile efforts to coax and wheedle some sort of life back into the vehicle with feeble prayers and muttered insults.

"_When the others find out, they won't want you there. And if they don't make it back, if everybody dies of this thing and it's just the two of us...with Judith and Carl...with my children? I won't have you there."_

The car coasted to a sudden grinding halt, the engine spluttering and then finally dying, and she sat back in the drivers seat, rubbing her hands over her temples before slamming them down hard onto the steering wheel in frustration. She shook her head unable to stop the steady stream of hot bitter tears that ran down her cheeks. Rick had hurt her with those few damn words, maybe more than he could have ever known. And she knew that he'd meant every single damn one of them. He'd wanted to hit out and hurt her the best way that he knew. And he'd gone and done it.

She would never have done anything that would have hurt or put those kids in harms way. She'd looked after them, cared for them as if they were her own. Rick had looked at her with pure disgust-as if he didn't even know her, as if she was nothing more than a stranger to him now. They'd been through so much together that it shocked her to the core that he could look on her as he had done.

She shoved the drivers door open abruptly and stood in the road, momentarily at a loss what to do, the sound of her boots muffled on the cracked tarmac as she restlessly kicked up a drift of brown pine needles. Sweat trickled down her back, the stagnant humid air of the woods seeping into her skin and stifling the air in her lungs, the line of evergreen trees stretching endlessly on. A faint breeze whispered at her face, softly touching at her sweat dampened hair. Reaching down she touched at her knife, then smoothed her hand to the waistband of her cargo pants, feeling the reassuring bulk of her revolver stuffed there.

She wondered if Rick had made it back to the prison yet and what lies he would weave about her absence...but knowing Rick as she did-she knew that he would feel no need to lie for her on her behalf, he would feel little or no remorse in offering nothing but the ugly painful truth...that he _would_ do that when it suited him and his own damn needs.

The sob bubbled up out of her throat and passed her lips before she could stop it, the sudden noise seemingly loud in the still heavy silence. She leaned her back to the frame of the car, tears running down her cheeks and trickling past her jaw, and she buried her face in her hands, unable to stop herself from the hurtful sobs that wracked her body.

She was alone and she wasn't able to go back. She couldn't return from this. She'd told Rick at the house that they'd found Sam at...that she'd never thought that she could be strong, but yet at this moment...she felt like she had so many times in the past when it had been nothing but her and Ed. She felt weak and alone and vulnerable all over again. She hurt so bitterly. There wasn't anyone she could turn to, not now, not anymore.

The snap of a twig in the woods behind froze and rooted her to the spot, and she stood silently, feeling angry with herself that she'd given in so foolishly to her emotions; her sudden bout of self-loathing and self pity- not caring or even wanting to acknowledge her current predicament or where she was. It was stupid. _She_ was stupid and now she was being careless. Her hands dropped from her face as she pushed herself from the car, one hand touching the butt of the revolver at her waist, her fingers smoothing over the warmed wooden grip. Her head twisted slightly to the side, her eyes widening in dismay as she saw that the Jeep was now parked some distance behind her own vehicle, the drivers door flung open. She hadn't noticed, and whoever had been following her was by now in all probability laying in wait.

The undergrowth rustled nosily and she stepped further away from the car, swallowing thickly as she slowly pulled her gun out.

"Hey...hey there lady! Lady, c'mon...put that down."

Carol held her ground as three darkened figures emerged from the shadowy treeline and she squinted as the sun burst brightly and briefly through the heavy over hanging branches, momentarily obscuring her view. She blinked rapidly, her finger tightening around the trigger.

"Diego. Hell buddy, you're gonna scare her," a female voice hissed quietly.

"Ain't your buddy. Don't you forget that," Diego spat back. "You need to remember your place. You're here under sufferance."

"Quit it will you. Both of you," another voice said sharply, and Carol watched warily as two thickset men and a small younger woman stepped out of the trees.

The girl edged carefully towards her and held her hands out, smiling at her reassuringly. "Hey...you, lady. We don't mean you any harm."

"The fuck we doing here? We're wasting precious time with this shit," Diego spat, and Carol narrowed her eyes as she looked to him. He was tall, well muscled with a navy patterned bandana wrapped around his head. His mouth was pulled downwards into a sneer, thick black wiry hair covering his chin. He looked, then dismissed her with a derisive snort, casually raising his rifle so that the barrel rest against his shoulder. His eyes keenly observed her. "She's alone and she ain't no damn threat. Come on kiddies, let's get the hell back."

"Wait," the girl answered. "We can't just leave her here. Oh come on, guys?" She looked at Diego, frowning, then her eyes drifted across to the other man. "Pete?" she pleaded. "Please?"

The other man raised his hand and threaded his fingers through his dark wavy hair, sighing tiredly. "I don't know. Boss isn't gonna like this one little bit. He said no more-"

"Hey," the girl smiled reassuringly as she edged cautiously towards her. "We've got a camp, I don't know...a half, three quarters of a mile back. Look, you're out here on your own. You can come back with us."

"Damn it, Tara," Pete grimaced suddenly. "Hell okay...okay. _If_ she's coming with us, we need to take her weapons, check her over-"

"The fuck are you smoking, Pete?" Diego grunted in displeasure. "You're even _considering_ this? Hell, we don't have enough to feed the rest of us, let alone take another back to camp. We ain't no damn charity case here. You're right on one thing though. Boss man ain't gonna be happy. This is on your heads, assholes. Not mine."

He turned irritably and kicked his way back through the undergrowth, watching them with an almost bored detached expression.

"I'm _not_ my brother," Pete retorted, sighing as Diego just glared back at him. He shook his head as he glanced at Carol, "Look, the kid-she's right. We've got a camp a half mile back, north. You're welcome to join us."

"I don't want any trouble," Carol answered warily. "You don't have to do this. None of you. You can pretend that you never even saw me. Just leave me here and go on your way-"

"No," Pete shook his head decisively. "I'm _not_ about to leave a woman out here all on her own. Listen, I don't know what your story is and right now, we have no time to find out... but I'm damned if I'm going to have you rest on my conscience." He gazed past her to her broken down vehicle. "Besides, it doesn't look like you're going anywhere soon and it's rough as hell out there on your own."

"Another mouth," Diego called out, tapping the rifle on his shoulder.

"Shut it, man. I know," Pete said.

Carol watched them warily, her eyes skimming past Diego to Pete and resting on the younger girl. She was out of options-she had nowhere to go and little idea on what she was going to do. Maybe Rick was right, this _could_ possibly be her one and only single chance to start anew. People that didn't know her and what she'd done. She lowered her eyes, gazing past them to the leaf littered ground. Even after all this time...after Ed, her marriage, the quarry, the prison-she found to her burning shame that some old habits refused to die.

She didn't want to be alone.

Carol took a deep breath, willing the reluctant words past her lips. "I have some supplies. It isn't much, but maybe enough," she shrugged. "Canned food, gas, enough to make this not so much of a wasted trip for you. For any of you."

"Who's to say we don't just go and take them supplies off your hands, dump you out here anyway?" Diego shrugged nonchalantly. "Ain't no skin off my ass to leave you out here. It's the easier option, and believe me, lady. I _like_ easy."

"Holy shit dude," the girl spat as she stared at him in disbelief. "What the hell is wrong with you? You lost your humanity about the same time you went and lost your balls?"

"Well shit man, just go and look at that," Diego smirked. "Little tom cat's got some bite to her after all."

"If you're coming with us...sorry, but we've got to take your weapons," Pete said abruptly, ignoring them both. He stepped towards Carol, holding his hand out as he stared at her, nodding his head at her gun. She sighed, then reluctantly handed it over to him, shaking her head wearily as he looked at the knife at her waist. She unfastened it and handed it to him, holding the sheath out.

"Search her," he said, turning his back as the younger woman edged closer.

"I'm sorry," Tara said weakly, tucking a lock of shoulder length brown hair behind her ear. "I gotta do this. Done it before though. Plenty of times. I'm a cop."

"Fucking green assed rookie, you mean," Diego laughed sharply. "You ain't nothing more than a wannabe academy bitch."

"Screw you, man," Tara retorted as she raised her hand and flipped him the bird. She glanced at Carol and offered her a small embarrassed smile as she ran her hands down her sides, patting gently as she searched for any more weapons. She stepped back quickly, her cheeks suddenly flaring pink. "She's clean," she called out.

"Let's get them fucking supplies. Daylights a wasting and we've been out here way too long already. I've got a beer waiting with my goddamn name printed _all_ _over_ _it_," Diego snorted as he stomped through the undergrowth back towards the car. He tugged the trunk open, a sudden wide grin splitting his face. "Well damn. Maybe this ain't been such a waste of time after all."

…

"Carol? What happened to you? Was it bad?"

Carol glanced at the younger woman, seeing the honest uncomplicated questions in her dark brown eyes. She found reluctantly that she couldn't help but take a liking to this girl. They walked through the woods, Tara never leaving her side, and Carol was not naive and stupid enough to realize that the girl had her hand resting on the butt of her gun the whole time. If it had been her, she would've acted the same damn way.

"The group I was traveling with, we got caught up in a herd of those...those things...those _creatures_. I found myself alone and separated...cut off from the rest of the group," she answered, thinking quickly. "I found the car and I tried to look for them-but they'd gone. Run off. Left me out here alone."

Tara looked at her sympathetically, and Carol felt a tinge of shame flood through her for having to lie to the girl, but she couldn't go and admit what had really happened. She would let them all think that she was dumb and weak, that she needed their help and protection. She would keep up this charade if it meant her own safety. "I was so stupid and slow, I...I didn't think I could survive, not without the men in the group to...It's all my own fault. I'm so stupid."

"You can't do that. You can't go and blame yourself for what happened. It's so tough out there, I know what it's like. Before Brian found us, it was just me and my sister and my niece. Roughing it up in our apartment, living off s'ghetti rings and turkey chilli. My dad was there too, but he'd been suffering for a long time," Tara shrugged. "He had lung cancer and we knew that he wouldn't make it. Hell, he lasted a whole lot longer than we thought he would. I got to realizing that time is important, we don't know what's gonna happen to us next."

"I'm so sorry," Carol replied softly. "For your loss, for your dad."

"Is no need. My dad...well he's in a better place now. I kind of understand it, although back then at the time...I didn't I guess. Meghan-my niece, she didn't take any of it well. But she's just a kid and kid's don't know anything, not really. They don't understand any of this crap that's going on all around us, not like we do."

"They know more than you think," Carol answered, suddenly wishing that the girl would just quiet down.

"Where you out there long? I mean, you know...without the rest of your group?"

She glanced at the girl walking at her side and shrugged. So much had gone on in so short a time, she could hardly bear to process any of it. And now she was with this small group of people that she didn't know... she didn't know if she could trust _any_ damned one of them. She was heading towards their camp and heading towards God only knew what.

Carol sighed quietly to herself. Already she was missing the prison and her extended family back there. Rick's hurtful words and scornful dismissive attitude still hurt and smarted. She wondered how Lizzie was, if the girl was any worse for the damned sickness that had flooded its way through the prison. She thought of Mika, Luke, and she prayed fervently that no more of them had sickened to the virus. That Daryl had gotten back swiftly with the others and had managed to find the medicines that they'd so desperately needed.

And Merle. Oh God, _Merle_. Her eyes suddenly burned and prickled with unshed tears and she blinked rapidly against them, her heart heavy and constricting in her chest. She'd never even had the chance to say goodbye to him. There was so much between them and now there was no time to explore any of it. Time had finally run out on them, as she'd always expected it would. Good things weren't ever supposed to happen to her, and if they did? They'd never last. She didn't deserve any of it.

She closed her eyes briefly to the sudden feeling of nausea and wooziness that seeped through her. After Ed, she'd never thought that she could have even felt as she had done. But Merle...oh goddamn it-he'd awoken something inside of her that she'd thought was long dead. Something that she didn't think she had the capacity to feel anymore.

She raised her hand shakily and swiped at her face, smearing tears thickly across her cheeks where they burned her skin with unspoken regret.

"You lost people too, huh?" Tara said softly at her side.

"Haven't we all?" Carol answered. She shrugged sadly, pulling the straps of her backpack tighter. She'd found it under her bunk...under the bunk that they'd both shared in now what seemed a millennia ago...and for a moment she wondered why Merle had even gone and done it-packed bags almost as if he'd known something was going to happen. There was one thing that a lot of people seemed to do without realizing that they even did it. That stupid stubborn assed Dixon was not a man to ever underestimate. He'd constantly surprised even her.

But now...now he was gone, like all of the others and she would have to try and face life without him, without any of them. Merle was back at the prison with his brother, where he belonged. He'd earned his place there, and she took some comfort in the fact that at least the two brothers were finally back together, as the family they should've always been. And the brief happiness that she'd shared with him- she would lock those memories down deep within herself and treasure them for what they'd been, until Rick and her stupid misguided intentions had taken and thrown it all away.

She only hoped that Merle could find it in him to forgive her.

…

The woods opened up on either side of them into a trail of flattened out grass, and Carol assumed that they must be nearing the camp; the pathway that led out in front of them was well worn and trodden down. A bird rustled noisily in the undergrowth and flew up high into the air, startling them, and she heard the girl chuckle softly at her side.

Diego and Pete were walking just ahead of them, their voices low and muffled. She saw Diego gesture angrily, watched as the other man tried to placate him. She sighed to herself-there was obviously some sort of problem going on between the two men, and she wondered at the fact that it seemed she was heading from one disaster right into another, but there was little that she could do about it right now. For a second, she wondered if she could slip away; there was only the girl next to her, and Carol was pretty sure that she could handle her just fine, but even as she thought it, she glanced up and saw two more men standing at what seemed to be the start of a rudimentary perimeter. She was smack out of time-her chance to leave had slipped away before she'd even really noticed.

One of the men stepped forward, and Carol knew straight away from his bearing that he was a military man, despite the camouflage fatigues and baseball cap that he wore. He seemed different than the men with her, more in control. Surly. Suspicious.

"Hey man," he grunted, his gloved hands grasping a semi-automatic rifle, the thick black strap crossing over his chest.

"Mitch," Pete nodded, watching briefly as Tara approached the other man at the barricades. He ignored them both as they spoke together in low voices, and looked back to his brother. "Everything okay here?"

"Cool as shit, bro," Mitch said, stepping forwards and gripping the other mans forearm briefly. He stared at Carol, frowning, then he let go and glanced over his shoulder to where Tara stood with a Hispanic man who was now observing them keenly- his dark eyes brooding and alert. "You didn't say we were taking any more in, Caesar. The hell are you doing, man?"

"This ain't your show and the last time I checked Mitch, you weren't the one leading this camp," Caesar replied as he strode over towards them, his hand resting on his hip. He shrugged as he glanced at Tara. "Besides, what's one more mouth?"

"_I_ didn't want to bring her, damn numbers were against me," Diego grumbled, glaring as he pushed his way past Pete. "Got out voted, two to one-"

"What did I tell you, Pete?" Mitch broke in angrily. "Hell no! I _said _no more. We have too many mouths as it is. We can't feed what we've got here."

"She had supplies with her," Pete answered. "We _need_ them."

"Yeah man, these assholes didn't want to leave her there. I would've just taken the damn supplies if it were me, but fuck no. I had no damn choice but to bring her with us," Diego retorted sullenly.

Carol watched warily as the Hispanic male raised his head, his dark eyes widening slightly as he looked at her. "She stays, Diego. End of," he said pointedly. "Now, pequeña señora, this is _my_ camp and you're welcome to join us, but we have rules. You've got to accept them. We don't carry any dead weight here. No exceptions. It doesn't matter who you are, it goes for everyone. You contribute, or you get cast out."

"Shit. You're soft man," Mitch shook his head in disgust. "Fucking soft."

Caesar ignored him, instead he stared curiously at Carol, a slight smile tilting his mouth upwards. "Are you fine with this?"

She paused for a moment, biting at her lip, before nodding slowly in agreement. "Yeah, I'm fine with this." She glanced over at Pete, "I'd like to know when can I have my weapons back?"

Martinez gestured to Pete, taking her weapons off him. He glanced at her gun and then looked at her in surprise. "Nice piece," he said, turning it over in his hand. "Colt. Special issue. But you know that I'll be taking it." He stuffed it into the front of his pants, holding the knife and staring at it. "Now this...hell, now this is unusual," he laughed suddenly, looking across to her, raising his eyebrows in amused question. "A knuckle knife? Where did you get this?"

"Long story," she answered reluctantly.

"It always is," Caesar said quietly, holding the knife in its sheath. "I'll be taking this too. No offence _dama_, but I'm not going to take the chance that you're going to creep up on me late at night and gut me in my sleep."

...

Carol looked up as they entered the camp, her surprise and disbelief giving way to unexpected wonder. This wasn't a camp like she'd ever seen before. There were several RV's and campers parked up together in a line, cars and SUV's bordering the edges of what she saw was a compound. Her gaze traveled past the vehicles, she saw several lines of thick wiring that was serving as clothes lines, damp and wet clothing dripping as they hung out, pegged.

What caught her gaze unexpectedly was the tank...the long barrel of its gun holding tied to it another line of freshly laundered clothing. It seemed so bizarre, so damned incredulous.

She was surprised to see a young girl, her long auburn hair swaying as she moved. She stopped and looked up at Carol, her eyes wide and full of curiosity.

"Aunt Tara? Who is the lady?" she asked, fidgeting with a chess piece clasped in her hands.

"She was someone lost and we found her," Tara smiled.

Carol looked towards the small girl, but her attention suddenly wasn't focused solely on her- it was caught and fixed by the sight of a tall thin man coming up and standing just behind her, a black eye-patch covering one eye, his hand resting almost protectively on the young girls shoulder.

"Well my," he said smiling disarmingly, glancing at Caesar, then slowly dragging his gaze to rest on Carol. "Now, isn't this interesting?"

...


	57. 57-Monsters

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.**

a/n: _I am __still __writing this fic close to the main story line, the main gist of the plot__s__ being the same, __as I feel those personal character arcs are very important to whichever character's emotional/physical progression. This particular plot arc I am writing now, will still remain fairly canon, although it will veer off AU. There are a few new situations, new characters and new OC's, while still keeping to the original storyline. The next chapter should be right back to where we left off with Merle. _

_Lately I have become pretty much discouraged and sadly demoralized by the lack of response to this fic, and a number of times (including right now) I've gotten so close to just packing it all in. I honestly just don't know any more. There is a point coming up close now in this story, where I can change my intended plot and put an alternative end to it, and one of those is if Merle finally meets the Governor, and if it is revealed that Carol is from the prison group. So...please read and review, or even pm, __it would help let me know if what I am doing is right or wrong, or even whether I should continue writing and submitting this fic to this site. _

_Thanks._

* * *

...

"I know what you're thinking, _Brian_, but I ain't about to go and turn anyone away. Not when they turn up on our doorstep."

Brian turned away from Carol, his one eyed gaze fixing back to the Hispanic man. "I'm just surprised that you can so easily break the rules that you yourself enforced."

Caesar stared back. "I didn't force anything. Besides," he laughed nervously. "Rules can be broken. Some."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that fact," Brian answered, his hand dropping away from the young girls shoulder. "Go, find your mom, pumpkin," he said softly. Meghan smiled back at him, before skipping off into the direction of a large RV with a lowered down canopy -several plastic chairs and a forlorn dirt encrusted table littered the flattened grassed area. Brian raised his head, his one lone eye hard and steely. "Rules are what keep us from being one step away from a dog-eat-dog world. You need to remember that."

"Can we wind this crap down?" Mitch said abruptly, coming into view and watching them with a bored expression. He fastidiously wiped his fingers on an oily rag before tossing it carelessly to the ground. "If you wanna make that run, Bri -you need to cut the chatter and move the hell on out. Unless you've got a reason for stalling?"

Brian shrugged, "You're right," he answered quietly. "Let's go."

Martinez stepped back a pace, watching Brian warily. "You sure you're ready for this?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Brian snapped suddenly. "I can handle the biters."

"I know, man, just...take it easy out there. It ain't the same no more," Caesar replied, stepping back again a pace as Brian moved past him.

"Hello, bitches?" Mitch broke in. "Ain't got time for this," he said tapping a finger on his arm. "Tick fucking tock."

"Don't I know you from somewhere?" Brian asked as he paused near Carol. She looked up at him quickly, shaking her head. Brian hummed in response, crossing his arms briefly over his chest, rubbing and tapping his chin thoughtfully with one finger. "If there's one thing I know...one thing that I'm absolutely sure of...I don't _ever_ forget a face." He stared at her intently for a moment longer. "It will come to me, don't you go worrying about that. I'm sure of it."

Martinez watched as Brian strode away, his long denim clad legs quickly crossing the distance, weaving past make-shift tables and upturned barrels to where Pete stood with Diego, the two men shouldering semi-automatic rifles. Caesar turned his head and looked back towards the small grey haired woman, watching her closely. He'd seen the spark of recognition in her eyes as she'd looked at Blake, the way she had almost shrunk away from him as he'd walked past, her silence seeming like an admittance of something more. His interest in her raised another notch, his curiosity pricking him. He hadn't bought into the bullshit story that Tara had told him about her for one single minute.

"See you later, ladies," Mitch grinned, purposely shoving hard against Martinez and jostling him on his feet. "Don't go waiting up on us," he called out over his shoulder.

"El pelotudo," Caesar retorted. He glanced at Carol, his brown eyes narrowing as he ignored Mitch as the former tank operator flipped him the bird. "You should get settled in camp. Night isn't so far away. We've got only one trailer spare, far end of the camp. It ain't anything special, previous owner chose to skip right out of town a few days back. But, you're welcome to use it. Hola, Sandy!" he called out to a woman with long brown hair tied up in a loose ponytail. "Show la pequeña señora Kenny's old trailer."

Sandy looked across at her and sighed, "New in town, huh?" she asked.

"Something like that," Carol answered shakily as Caesar strode away from them. They started walking through the camp, Carol watching briefly as a balding man in dirty denims, and a grizzled salt and pepper beard, tried to light a small stack of lumber in an upturned barrel, his muffled cuss words reaching across to them as he wrestled a bic lighter to work. "Arrived today," she said, looking back at Sandy and frowning. "I lost the group I was with-"

"Yeah," the other woman clucked sympathetically. "Hear that around here way too often." She nodded her head towards a small group of men and women moving around the camp, oblivious to them as they walked, intent on the menial tasks in hand. "Every single man, woman and child here has some sort of sob story, no offense," she said, glancing at Carol.

Carol shrugged, "None taken."

"We've all been through this. Every single one of us. We know the drill to the letter. At the start of _this_... myself? I got the hell out of Atlanta as fast as I damn well could. Got holed up with a small group about twenty miles south. The suburbs-I don't know why, but we thought we'd be okay there. There were fifty-two of us all told at the start-mostly living in cars, tents...anything we could find and use...trying to figure the hell out of this shit." She stared across the camp, her eyes glazing momentarily in thought and sorrow. "There was one family with us that lived in an old school bus," she said softly. "The Hudson's. They had two cute little kids. Well... we thought we were safe. But we were wrong. So damn wrong. Roamers attacked our camp one night, and out of the fifty-two of us, eleven made it through. We lost more on the road till the Dolgen's turned up in their goddamn tank, and saved our pitiful asses." Sandy shrugged, looking at her again. "Look, Carol, I'm sorry, but I'm not begging for your sympathy here, hell I don't even know why I told you this stuff-it's ancient history. I'm just saying that we've all got our own personal tales of hell and heartbreak. And I just...I just can't bear to hear anymore of it. You understand that?"

"Yeah," Carol nodded, "I understand. And there's no need to explain anything. You're right, every single one of us...we've all lost people, good people. Family. But we've got to move on. We have to."

Sandy looked at her thoughtfully, then glanced away. "We're here. Kenny's old trailer."

Carol looked at the small trailer, saw the way that it sat leaning at a slight angle in the dirt and thick grass. It looked battered and ancient, moss growing in the corners of the window frames, the once deluxe white and now pitted and grey metallic panels peeling away from the body, almost as if in shame and regret of the memory of what it had once been. The dark glass of its windows were smeared thickly with grease and grime, the stagnant darkness welling ominously from within. "What happened to...Kenny?"

"Kenny? He was always a little...I don't know, avant-garde? Bit of an aging hippie that smoked too much of what he used to call 'his little herbal pep-tonics'. Guess it all finally got too much for him. He must have gotten stoned right out of his tree and decided to take a walk with the roamers. All we found next day was a spatter of blood in the grass...and his boots. Nothing else. Just his goddamn boots. I miss him-even though he was an eccentric old fool."

"Some aren't cut out for this. To survive. To do what you have to. It's like they shut down and refuse to face it anymore," Carol answered softly, ignoring the sharp knowing look on Sandy's face. "I was the same. I don't know, maybe I still am. I don't know how I'm going to cope without my old group, without the men to keep-"

"Hey," Sandy said quickly, grabbing at her arm. "You're here now, and you've survived this long. That's got to count for something, right? And hell...maybe this...maybe it isn't so bad. The men in the camp here? They're always on watch, always on guard. You'll be safe. You're not alone now, and we won't go and leave you like your old group did. Safety in numbers, and all that good time crap."

"Maybe," she answered, as Sandy tugged the door open. Her nose wrinkled at the sudden pungent aroma that greeted her. She raised an eyebrow. "Guess Kenny wasn't so good at home-keeping?"

Sandy laughed, before a sudden serious expression smoothed its way quickly across her features. "Hey, Carol. You're new, and I don't know...I kinda like you. So, I'm gonna go out on a limb here, and give you a word to the wise. Keep an eye out on Brian Heriot-"

"Brian?" Carol asked quickly. "Is there a problem?"

"Mhm. He...he has this way of looking at you. Like he sees right through you. A couple of the girls-"

"He seemed fine to me. Almost charming."

Sandy snorted, one hand still resting on the latch of the door. "My dad always used to say that even the devil was an angel once. Just be careful, okay?"

...

The mustiness and damp dimness of the trailer pervaded her senses as soon as the door clicked softly shut. She paced slowly and restlessly towards the bunk at the far end of the camper, sitting gingerly on the thin mattress, feeling the sharp twang of the springs as they dug into her. She sighed softly to herself, setting the little battery operated lamp she'd found in the small kitchenette area on to the bed next to her. The light was wan and feeble and did little to dispel the murky surroundings that she found herself in. Her nose prickled delicately at the multitude of aromas that assaulted her. Musk, the sour smell of old sweat, the insidious aroma of damp and neglect, aged old semen and the pungent sweet aroma of weed mixed all along with the faint ammonia of cat urine.

She coughed into her hand, bile suddenly rising and burning in her throat, and she leaned heavily on the moldering bunk, one hand splayed flat on the dampness of the thin mattress. She glanced around the trailer, narrowing her eyes in the dim light as she spied out the shape of her backpack next to the door where she'd left it. She thought of Merle as she looked at the knapsack, the sudden empty wistful pang filling and aching her heart.

Carol rose from the bunk, glancing around the pitiful trailer. She was weaponless -Caesar still had her revolver and knife, but maybe there was something that she could find-something overlooked. She rummaged through drawers, sighing in weariness as the only things that she found was a flat headed screwdriver, several screws and nuts, and a wad of paper, slightly bloated in the damp air. She carried them both back to the bunk, sitting heavily as she skimmed through the papers.

Sandy was right on one thing. The previous occupant had been nothing if an eccentric. Several carefully sketched drawings festooned the first dozen pages, amateurishly drawn sketches of crucifixes, giant eyes, old women and butterflies-the style similar to a stunted version of Salvador Dali. She bent her head to the pages, thumbing through and begrudgingly admiring the artworks. Soon the intensive pencil drawings devolved into nothing more than seemingly mindless sketches of child-like nightmarish figures -all thickly scribbled in black -dark shadowy figures with glowing eyes and snapping pointed teeth.

She shut the art pad quickly, and dropped it to the floor.

She sat for a while in silence, drawing her knees up to her chest, clasping her hands around her legs as the tears started thick and hotly. For what felt like the hundredth time, she doubted herself. What she'd done. Karen and David were dead, and it was because of her. She thought of the sketchpad, the figures etched harsh and crudely in black.

Was she any different to the monsters drawn within?

Her eyes slowly drifted across the trailer, the breath sitting sourly in her lungs and catching in her throat. How could she even hope to come back from this. From any of it? Her eyes drifted unseeingly until they rest on the dark mass next to the door, and she stumbled her way over to it, reaching out her hand and grasping at the backpack and drawing it close. She held onto it for a moment, refusing to give voice to her grief, until curiosity piqued at her enough to unzip it.

She turned it up, end over end, hurriedly shaking and discarding the contents onto the bunk, gritting her teeth in frustration as she found nothing that she could use to arm and defend herself. She sighed again, half angry with herself.

One thing that registered in her mind was the rolled up bundle of dark fabric that fell with a soft thump to the ground. Quickly, she scooped the other contents back into the backpack, until she was stupidly aware that there was nothing left but her, the now refilled backpack, and the dark swatch of material that littered like a blank shadow on the dirt grimed floor. She leaned forwards, scooping it up and clasping it to her chest. It was Merle's shirt. The one that he'd worn when he'd tried and failed to take on the Governor by himself, and she for some unknown reason, had clung onto and tried desperately to fix and repair the tattered garment.

A single solitary tear slipped down her cheek unnoticed as she leaned forwards, scooping the material up and holding it close. She pressed her face in to the fabric, the touch of the corded material soft against her skin, the scent of stale cigarettes, motor oil and the uniqueness of himstill clinging to the fabric.

She held onto the shirt for a moment, before dropping it quickly into her lap. She had to get away. She had to leave, and she had to do it _soon_. She didn't know any of the others in the camp -she hadn't seen many of them since she'd entered, but the one thing she felt almost certain on, was that the man with the eye patch went by another name, and that name was not Brian Heriot.

_H__e'd called them 'Biter's__'__._

She knew from her time spent with Merle at the prison, that was what he'd also called them. It seemed to her then, that the term biter _had_ to come from Woodbury. Sandy had called them 'Roamers'...

A sudden jarring thought struck her. She might be here in this camp, alone without any of the others anymore, but maybe, just maybe it _c__ould_ be enough. Maybe _she _was enough to lay this goddamn demon to rest. Maybe she could do it...maybe she could do what Andrea and Merle had both failed to do.

Carol shoved the shirt from her lap, glancing to her side, her eyes slowly fixing on to the screwdriver. She grasped it firmly, her heart starting to pick up speed and pound in her chest, and she quickly tucked the implement in to the side of her boot, pulling her pants leg over the top, concealing it.

She took a deep breath, smoothing her hands over her hair, willing her nerves to calm down, the urgency and need to investigate the camp...to try to blend in with the others so that she could learn more. Only then -when she was sure, would she take any action, and try to put a stop to it all.

…

A faint wind rustled through the vibrant green leaves of the ash and beech trees that lined a few yards from the bank of the lake, the first hint of rain gently spattering down like a fine mist, sending small spirals that swam on the surface of the water. Two dragonflies flitted and danced at the edge, the receding sun sending little chips of shimmering blue off their bodies that glinted and twinkled in the light.

Caesar watched them for a while, lost in thought as he absently raised a beer bottle to his lips and drained it, casually wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. He swayed slightly on his feet as he glanced at the bottle, before tossing it into the water, watching as the two blue dashers darted away into the reeds at the sudden unexpected motion. The bottle hit the water with a soft plop, sending a larger spiraling circle that grew outwards until it lost itself in the soft undulations of the lake.

Footsteps sounded behind on the wooden jetty, and he glanced over his shoulder, a reluctant smile on his face as the other man walked towards him, two bottles held in his hand by their necks.

"Good man," Caesar slurred, chuckling to himself at the sound of his own voice. "Refreshments. Good plan," he nodded as he gazed back at the tranquil waters. Rain fell softly, cooling his skin, and he rubbed his hand over his forehead, trailing fingers through his damp hair.

"How long you been out here?"

"Got no idea," Caesar frowned as he turned towards him. "What the hell does it matter anyway? Pass one over," he gestured to the bottles. "A man gotta die of thirst before...hey... Scott – el amigo, the camp perimeters? They've all been checked?"

The tall man at his side nodded, then seeing that the Hispanic wasn't paying attention, nudged him with one of the bottles. "All done and dusted. Not seen any of the biters, well not on my side, and not on my shift. Who knows? Maybe they've fucked off for the night."

"Thanks," Caesar said, taking the bottle, and using his knife to flip the metal lid off. He drained half of the amber contents quickly, feeling the alcohol starting to numb some of the worry that had been spearing his guts. He wondered briefly if he was getting paranoid...the nagging itch in the back of his mind warning him that he was slowly losing control-Caesar shook his head, dismissing the thought as he looked back at the bottle in his hand. "Wish it were that simple. Them biters...man, they're always there."

"Yeah, tell me about it. Looks like it's going to be a quiet night though."

Caesar shrugged, staring at the water before glancing back at the lanky long haired man to his side. He'd been surprised as hell when Pete and Mitch had brought him back to camp a few weeks back, had seen and wondered about the bruises on his face. "You gonna drink that?"

"Give me a break, dude." Scott looked at him, and smirked slyly, "Told you, I've not long finished my shift, and I see you here, alone. Thought you could do with the company. And the beers. What are you doing out here anyway? On your own?"

"You ask too many questions, _amigo_," Caesar slurred softly. He felt suddenly vulnerable and uneasy in the other mans presence. Scott had always been one of those unremarkable men that had flitted and faded into the distance, a vague face among many at Woodbury. But now Scott was here, and he was hanging onto Mitch and Diego's shirt-tails like some ass kissing bitch. There was something going on, but Caesar was damned if he knew what.

"Fuck to the biters, and fuck to the God damned rain," Scott said as he raised the bottle to his mouth and drank a little of it, before tossing the bottle irritably into the water, his brown eyes narrowing and glinting in the early evening light. "Let's get our damn asses back."

Caesar stood a moment, silently contemplating the calm cool deep water of the lake, before turning his back to it, the bottle dangling loosely in his hand as he stumbled after Scott. The sharp fresh smell of ozone stung at his nose, raising the hairs on his arms. "There's a storm coming," he murmured softly to himself. "Shit's gonna go down. Don't you feel it?"

"Shit, Martinez, just how much have you had to fucking drink?" Scott laughed, the sudden boom of his voice stirring up a small flock of roosting birds that flew up out of the trees.

…

The stillness and silence permeated the lake not long after the two men left, their muffled voices dampened down by the vastness of the thick woods. Lush green tree-leaves and overgrown tangled shrubs ripe with rain water, rustled limply as a soft gentle breeze stirred through them and slowly picked up momentum.

The water underneath the jetty swirled and bubbled, large circles forming and skimming across the surface, breaking the even placidness. In the dark depths of the lake, chains rattled; the sound unnoticed and unheard in the rapidly churning water. Two pale forms fluttered then grasped, fingers uncurling from death, reawakening and twitching, somehow sensing that prey had been near but was now suddenly gone. A face gaped hungrily, eyes large and milky white under the film of water.

...


	58. 58-'bows an' Balls

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.**

_a/n: I am so sorry that I haven't updated this in a while, but the last few weeks have been pretty tough for my family and myself. Recently we lost a dearly beloved member of the family suddenly, and it has been really rough for us all. I honestly thought that I would be able to write to help myself through this horrible time, but every single time I opened word pad up, I would just sit there staring at a blank page, getting more and more frustrated with myself. The story and plots were all there churning away in my mind, but I completely lost the ability to voice and write any of it down. _

_I would like to take a moment to thank a few people._

_Wildcow258- I just really can't express and find the words to thank you enough for all the words of encouragement, sympathy and for simply being just being here with me since day one. Thank you so much. I appreciate you a lot more than you know._

_To the guest reviewer- Thank you. I've been writing this for so long and have invested so much into this that I won't stop writing it now. I have very firm plots and ideas on where this is all going, and I'd love to say what exactly- but I really don't want to give anything away. _

_ArcheryLefty- I owe much to you also, thank you. Like you, I write this because I simply adore Merle, and I've always hated the fact that he was killed off in the manner that he was- when there was so much more to him to be discovered. He is always so refreshing to write, and his journey is only really just starting, I guess. _

_As always, I'd really like to thank everyone here with me, reading this story._

* * *

...

Guns had always held a fascination for him. Even when he was a teen, fresh out of juvie, trekking through the woods and up the winding mountain trails with his sniveling snotty-nosed brat of a brother in tow. Daryl reverently lugging the battered old crossbow over his puny little shoulders, Merle with a hunting knife strapped at his waist, their pa's old Marlin sneaked out and slung over his own shoulder. Hunting young bucks, possum and rabbits, anything for the laugh and buzzing thrill of the chase and eventual kill.

Of course that wasn't the only buzz that he'd get. He always had a little emergency backup... something stashed away-nothing to hard and heavy, nothing to get him too wildly shit-faced while he was out in the wilds with his kid brother, but just enough to help take the edge away. And of course he'd pretend to be mad as hell, angry at Daryl. Angry at the boy for slowing him down, but the truth of it was- while Merle _was_ there, he wasn't going to take any chances and leave his baby brother there alone with their drunken asshole of a father.

While they trekked and hunted, alone together in the comforting familiar solitude of the woods-Merle would often dream that one day, he would just swoop right on in there, man the hell up and take his baby brother away from the fucked up shit-fest of a life that they both lived- hell they'd even move far away, and try to live a different kind of life. Maybe they'd luck in and have the whole goddamn American dream, right down to the lawn chairs and cool refrigerated beers, hell- even them prissy little white picket fences. He'd put his brother through college while he got himself clean and knuckled down and got a job, earn enough to keep them both safe, alive and sane. It never happened though. Merle was too young to really understand, and then...when he was finally old enough, he'd fucked up his life too much to care anymore.

"_Merle? When ya gonna let me have a go at this thing? I can shoot it, I'm big enough now."_

"_You ain't squirt. Damn 'bow gotta be bigger than ya."_

"_You ain't never gonna let me," Daryl sulked. "You said before an' ya never ever let me. Ya even let me carry it for ya! I ain't believing you no more. Ya tell lies, Merle. I ain't trusting you. Pa was right, you ain't never been nothing but a goddamn useless piece of shit."_

"_You wanna watch that sassy little mouth of yours, Darlina. God help me if you back chat me once more kid...I'm gonna bust you right on yer goddamn ass."_

"_Why do ya hate me, Merle? You're always gone. You ain't never there. You promise you're gonna teach me things, and then you're gone. You always go and leave. You ain't never cared 'bout me, 'cause if ya did, you'd show me how to use that 'bow."_

_Merle sighed, then turned to his brother. Daryl was nine years old, and the stupid little kid tears he was blubbering was tracking down and smearing the dirt on his face. "Hell, why would ya even say that, huh? I ain't never hated ya, brother. Hey, now...ah shit. All right...all right squirt, jus' quit that damn caterwaulin', an' I'll show ya, even though I'ma reckonin' you ain't never gonna be able to handle this damn 'bow. Yer way too scrawny an' little."_

Merle helped and showed him that day, and he was fucked if Daryl hadn't had gone and proved him wrong after all. Turned out little brother was a natural with the crossbow, even if he didn't have enough strength in his puny little kid body to hold and string a bolt, and even though his first shot had landed him smack on his ass in the dirt.

And himself, well... he'd found that guns were a lot more efficient than any damn stupid old crossbow. He liked the smell of the guns, liked how _right_ they felt in his hands. They were less time consuming. Guns did the job sweet and clean, and that suited him right down to the fucking ground.

…

He'd lost his original firearm a while back, and he still mourned the lack of his faithful Colt. That pistol and him had been through some damn fine wild times in the past. Now he was relegated to using a Beretta that he'd taken from the armory at the prison, and as he glanced down at the holstered weapon, he felt a thrill of irony that maybe little brother had been bang on the money all along. There was a time and a place for the usage of a firearm, and now just wasn't one of them. Not that he could've used a fucking crossbow. But hell, the thought still pushed at his mind.

Merle pushed back at a sapling, kneeling in the leaf littered dirt and undergrowth, resting his weight on his prosthesis as the blade dug into the soft ground.

He narrowed his eyes as he watched the camp, absently swiping at a trickle of sweat that beaded, then ran slowly down his temple. He'd lost track of how long he'd spent watching and observing, noting how many times the guards were changed, and how many men (and not to be a complete sexist pig) _women_...were left at the outposts alone. He wished then for that goddamn 'bow, wishing that he could've pegged a few of them sentries. His gun was useless -he didn't need the noise of the weapon alerting anyone to his presence. The only thing on his side was silence and stealth.

He got to his feet, pushing his way from the camp and slinking further back into the undergrowth. He'd been badly shaken up when he'd seen Philip Blake sauntering around the camp as if the man owned it, as if nothing had damn well happened. Merle shouldn't have been half as surprised as he'd felt, after all- Blake seemed to have led a charmed life all in all- but he fucking well had been. He'd thought that ass-fucking-hole was long, long dead. Merle had been gripped with a strange paralyzing fear, his whole body freezing and rooting him to the spot; the unfamiliar fear coursing its unbridled way through him, almost all the way to his damn soul. He'd never been truly afraid of any one in his life, not even of his old man at his worst-but the Governor had a way of casting that unusual spell on him.

He'd only just managed to rouse himself from the dull paralyzing stupor; the memory of his nine year old brother smiling up at him like Merle was the only goddamn thing that mattered in his crappy life, proud as hell with his first blood kill. The rabbit strung and slung over his shoulder, its crimson life blood seeping down the kids grimy ripped T-shirt. The 'bow on his back too large and too heavy, but Daryl still smiling under its weight, pleased and as proud as fuck.

And for every goddamn thing that he'd never done, for every single time that he'd never been there -Merle had always remembered that look of simple and uncomplicated adoration in his young brothers earnest blue eyes.

…

He'd stumbled on the RV purely by accident on his first initial sweep of the camp, and he'd stood a while amidst the low unearthly growling issuing from the pits. He should've been surprised to see the pits, but the truth of it was-he wasn't. It felt like he was slipping backwards, back to times before the prison, and back to Woodbury. They'd made them pits- at first...they were nothing more than a way to contain the many biters that roamed. And then the Governor had found another use for them, and as unfavorable as it'd seemed at the time, Merle had to concede that like the first time he'd really discovered his love for firearms, the pits did a similar job. Nice and clean and efficiently.

He cast his eyes over the opened expanse of long withered grassland, ringed by the deep murky woods. The pits were barely discernible if anyone was unaware that they were there, but they were. He must have counted at least six of them, long furrows in the ground, dug eight foot deep, and measuring at least twenty foot from start to finish.

The nearest pit was a few yards away and off from the general direction of the RV, and Merle barely cast it another look as he walked over towards the motorhome, glancing over his shoulder to stare across the grassland, even though he knew that he was alone. The few biters in the pits were suddenly subdued and silenced as he moved further away from them, and Merle knew they'd alert him if anyone ventured near; they'd pick up the fresh scent of the blood of the living faster than a goddamn blood-hound seeking spoor.

He trod up the steps, cautiously pulling the door open, holding his prosthetic out in front of him. The interior was empty but dim, faint light spilling in through the ragged dust grimed drapes hanging loosely from filthy window panes.

A quick hurried search revealed nothing more than a few rolls of duct tape, and a surprising number of golfing balls. He tugged his backpack off, stuffing a roll of the duct tape inside, dropping the bag to the floor. He leaned against a dusty work counter, his hand cupping his chin and scratching at his beard. He smiled suddenly to himself in thought as he glanced back at the golf balls- some brand new and unused, still held together in their cellophane tubing.

He had the start of an idea forming, and he was fucked if he hadn't had gone and damn well amused himself with the notion. He grabbed at the cellophane tubes, stuffing them into his backpack, pausing to grab a few of the loose golf balls as they rolled around the cracked vinyl floor, his boots sending them skidding.

Yeah. He had an idea all right. Crossbows and golfing balls – right now they all amounted to the same damn thing.

…

By the time he'd made it back into the depths of the woods, the sun was slowly starting to dip in the horizon, and he knew he'd spent too much time tracking and re-investigating the camp. Time was slipping away, and he had to make cover for the impending night. He saw a worn dirt track running along the side of a lake, and he instinctively avoided it, preferring to push his way deeper through the comforting shadows of the trees.

He encountered a few biters along the way, but they were slow and stupid and it didn't take much effort on his part to dispatch them. He dragged the corpses into the shelter of the thick undergrowth and shrubs, wanting to hide any evidence of his passing from anyone that dared to venture further into the woods. It took time, but it was something that he had to do.

He came across the clearing in the woods, the stillness suddenly broken by the mournful cry of a solitary bird, high up among the tree tops. He paused for a moment, reaching into his pack and dragging out a bottle of water, taking a few moments to chug down the warm liquid, quenching the dryness of his throat and soothing the cracked skin of his lips. For a seconds he allowed himself the luxurious tempting thought of pouring some of the water over his head, to try to cool down his sweat prickled skin, but water now was one luxury he couldn't afford to lose, so instead he popped the cap back on, and stuffed the bottle back into his pack.

He was so focused on looking around the ruins of the camp, staring at the numerous bodies littering the floor, the mangled relics of tents and broken and bust up camp fires, cooking utensils strewn all across the leaf littered ground, the mangled barbed wire bearing posts that jutted at all the wrong angles-as if a tornado had bust its way through and rended the camp, that he almost missed the biter until its hand was clawing at his throat.

He twisted sharply, the biter swaying with him as if the two were locked into some God-forsaken dance, its one hand caught in the webbing and strappings of his backpack. Its teeth snapped hungrily at the nape of his neck, dousing him in its cool fetid carrion breath, and Merle gagged in spite of himself, all the while twisting and trying to shake the hateful thing the fuck off and away from him.

Its hand was still trapped in the straps of his pack, its fingers peeled down to the bone, jagged points of bone that slapped and scratched as it searched desperately for the soft tender skin of his neck. He didn't have enough space to swing his prosthetic, and his knife had twisted awkwardly on his belt-just out of reach, giving him little chance to grab at it.

Their feet skidded in the dirt as they twisted, and they both tumbled heavily to the ground, the damn fucking thing landing on top of him, its ruined pallid face inching closer to his exposed throat, its long matted moss and twig encrusted hair flailing across his cheek. There was a soft wet squelch and popping sound as the biter pulled its arm away from where it had been trapped between his back, the ground and the backpack. It waved its broken arm wildly in the air, congealed blood spewing from its freshly broken wrist, the pale bone now exposed and jutting out.

In desperation, Merle managed to hook his hand under its chin and push upwards, but the damn thing was so decomposed that his fingers sank quickly into the putrid soft cold flesh of its throat, jets of blackened and congealed blood spraying and arcing out of its neck. He managed to twist his face to the side in the dirt as the first geyser hit, splattering his cheek.

"You bitch!" he spat out. "Why the fuck would ya do that?"

Adrenaline surged in his veins, and he pushed up with his prosthetic, the blade finally snagging into the soft rotten pulp of its belly. He struggled against its pallid chill body, and finally, after a few fraught seconds, he managed to bring his prosthetic up, gutting the damn thing, its insides loosening and raining down over him. He pushed his hand through its throat, his fingers digging deeper and gouging into its flesh, and with both arms, he finally managed to gain enough momentum to lever the body up and push it away from him.

He leaped to his feet, long coiled loops of bloodied intestine and guts slithering down his torso and sliding down his thighs, and angrily he raised his boot and brought it smashing down onto its face. He didn't stop until nothing remained other than a blackened pulpy mix of turgid rotten brain tissue, congealed blood and splinters of pale bone.

"That'll teach ya to mess with me, ya fuckin' bastard son of a whore," he mouthed angrily, dropping to his knees next to the corpse, his breath heaving in his chest.

…

He stunk to high heaven. He was heavily splattered with geek juice- his once beige shirt and grimy wife-beater sticking and clinging to his skin uncomfortably, and he tried to peel the fabric from off himself, giving up and sighing in irritation as he rubbed at his forehead, smearing more of the biter gunk across his skin.

Merle gazed across the camp as he walked, tugging the backpack off and dropping it near to the remains of a large camp fire encircled with soot smeared stones, half burnt blackened lumber dangling over the edges, the smell of the semi-charred brackish wood tingling his nose.

There were just over ten corpses in the small clearing, and from the looks of it-this small camp had been taken by surprise and ransacked, the pitiful looking inhabitants slaughtered indiscriminately. Tracks led off in every direction in the trampled down grass, intermittent imprints of heavy work boots in the soft soil. He knelt down on the ground, his fingers touching at a patch of blood, rubbing his fingers through it, feeling the drying tackiness on his skin.

Whoever had attacked this camp had done it hours ago, and Merle glanced up, frowning and quickly rubbing the blood and grime from his fingers and palm onto his thigh as the sounds of low grunting groans reached near to him. Several of the corpses were now starting to slowly move and flail where they lay in the dirt, arms and legs twitching and drumming softly as they groggily re-awakened.

He pushed himself to his feet, stalking across to the bodies, plunging his bayonet quickly through the skulls, silencing them once and for all. For a moment, he toyed with the idea of dragging and moving the corpses out of the way of the camp, but the survivalist in him warned him not to, so he left them where they lay. He would use this camp as a base, use the bodies of the biters to help shield himself. He could be safe, and he could be left alone here. There was nothing of worth in this camp no more, anything of worth and value had been stripped and pillaged. There was nothing left here for anyone to come back to.

Merle rummaged through the bodies, unbuckling the few meager weapons that were still strapped to their waists, feeling angry that these people had been taken so completely unaware that not one single one of the poor asses had had any time to draw out so much as a knife.

Near the center of the camp was the body of an old man; long white hair spilling over his shoulder and draping across the ground like a drift of soft red-tinted snow, a look of permanent surprise etched on his weathered dead face. Blood stained the dead mans parted lips and teeth, the dark crimson crusted across his wispy white beard and painted vividly down across his throat. For a long moment, Merle stared at the corpse, the dead man on the ground sharply reminding him of the old veterinarian, Hershel. Merle shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts, feeling like a pussy for missing and even thinking of the old man back at the prison. He sighed quietly to himself, narrowing his eyes curiously as he spied out a familiar bulge in the pocket of the old mans brown plaid shirt, and he reached down, plucking it out and frowning to himself.

He paced back across the camp, grabbing his pack and taking it across to where a solitary lurid green tent still stood forlornly. He sat down heavily, resting his prosthetic across the tops of his knees as he fumbled with the pack of cigarettes, pulling one out with his teeth. He dropped the pack into his lap, tugging his lighter out of his pocket and lighting the smoke.

He exhaled, breathing out a small grey puff that spiraled up into the still humid air, enjoying the pleasant tingling feeling as the nicotine hit his bloodstream. He smoked in silence, thinking of a time before when he'd gone after the Governor, and he smiled slowly to himself, the plan he'd first thought of back in the RV formulating further in his mind.

Even though he was completely alone and had no Michonne to accompany him on this little trip, no Andrea to come and save his worthless old ass, he would do what he'd set out to do before. Buy everyone a little bit of time. But this was different from then, a whole lot different. This time he had plenty of reasons to want to come back from it and survive.

And he would.

...


	59. 59-Dead Man Walking

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.**

_a/n: Apologies for the longer chapter, there was simply no way to split it up. This has been a hard write, pulling everything together so that everyone is where I need them to be. I re-wrote the last few paragraphs more times than I care to admit, but I've finally got where I need it to be at this point._

_Also I am going to start titling chapters, (mostly because it is easier to see what particular chapter is what) and when I have time, I will go over all the previous chapters and rename them too._

* * *

...

Dusk was starting to creep its insidious way, touching with delicate fingers of shade and shadow at the edge of the woods, shrouding and carpeting the forest floor. The muffled low cries and caws of birds starting to settle and roost in the dense foliage broke with the occasional rustle and squawk as they fought and jostled with each other for space on the branches.

Blake and Mitch had returned from the foraging run a while back, with Diego. There had been an _accident_ -they'd been overrun with biters in the woods, barely escaping with their lives. Pete had paid the price, and had died a hero, saving their collective asses. Or so Blake had said. Caesar wasn't totally convinced. Mitch had looked pale and stricken..._ almost afraid_, his eyes puffy and red from grief. He'd seemed unusually distant and uncomfortable in Blake's presence. And as soon as he could, Mitch had made his excuses and locked himself up in his trailer with a bottle of bourbon.

And then Scott...man, that guy had come out spouting some ludicrous crap that the new woman in camp had come from the prison. Caesar had almost laughed out aloud at that, until he'd seen the almost zealous expression on Blake's face.

Martinez paced restlessly, swaying slightly as he walked, the fine light rain seeping through his T-shirt and cooling his skin. For a moment-he wished that he'd thought to have gone to his trailer and picked up a few more bottles, but the news had gotten him rattled enough that he'd wanted to put space between himself and the others in camp. He had to try to think things through with a clear rational mind, and drinking wasn't the answer even though he longed for a beer.

He gazed into the darkness, his thumb absently rubbing at the wooden butt of the snub nosed revolver tucked into the front of his pants. It was her gun, Carols-the grey haired woman- he'd meant to stash the weapon in his trailer earlier, but hadn't. He pulled the gun out, looking at it as he turned it over in his hand. A quick flash of movement beyond the tree lines made him grasp and raise the revolver, and he squinted one eye, taking a measured aim. A bird fluttered out of the trees, squawking loudly in alarm, and Caesar sighed wearily. "Boom, you're dead, cabrón," he murmured, slowly lowering the gun.

"Fucking shit, who the hell in Christ's name put that there!"

He looked over his shoulder, tucking the revolver back into his pants as he watched a portly bald headed man with a long graying beard stumble and trip clumsily over a pile of logs that lay next to one of the upturned barrels. Flames licked out of the barrel, the rain dampened wood sizzling, the wan light casting ghostly shadows. "Jesus, Connor. Idiota. You make enough noise to wake the dead." Caesar frowned and then chuckled to himself at the irony of his joke.

"Yeah, very funny," Connor grunted as lumbered to his feet, wiping irritably at the dirt on the knees of his denims.

"This the last one?"

"Nah. There's two more of 'em, other end of camp. This damn weather ain't making it any easier. The wood's too damp, taking forever to spark 'em up." Connor paused, swatting at his bald head, glancing up at the darkening sky as the rain fell softly in his eyes. He blinked rapidly against the moisture as he turned his head back towards him. "Oh, yeah, there's one thing while I think of it, Martinez. Them perimeters you set up? There's several gaps, enough for 'em lurkers to get through. You need to get that sorted. Oh, and another thing-"

Caesar turned his back to the woods, half aware of a small flurry of activity as branches swayed then snapped back as a figure retreated stealthily into the shadowy depths. He felt dispirited and tired. Felt weary and sick of everyone coming to him, tired of running the camp. Tired of dealing with the never ending shit. And now, now Pete was gone and he felt even more alone...trapped. Isolated. Afraid and wary of what else could come.

"You trying to tell me how to run my own camp, Connor? Do I look like I'm caring about this? Any of this _right_ now? That I care a single shit what _you_ think? No, amigo." He gestured irritably with his hand, "You're wrong. Just go, do what the hell you gotta do and just get out'a here, leave me alone," he snapped, badly wishing again that he'd brought a bottle with him. Anything to drown out the nagging voices in his head, anything to stop the uncomfortable churn of his guts.

"Hell to this! You're losing it, Martinez," Connor retorted.

The rain spattered down, flaring the flames as they licked at the damp wood. Connor glared at him for a moment, muttering angrily under his breath, before turning on his heel and striding back through the camp.

"Yeah. Don't I know it," Caesar said softly, glancing at the distant tree line over his shoulder, before following after the older man.

...

Caesar found himself at Kennys old trailer at the outskirts of camp, before he'd even realized that he'd walked there. Barrels of flaming, spluttering lumber dotted intermediately throughout the camp, casting the hulking forms of static trailers, RV's and station wagons in shadows.

He dug into the pocket of his pants, swaying on the balls of his feet as he grasped and pulled out a battered packet of Viceroys. He thumbed one quickly, lighting it after a few drunken fumbling attempts, smiling to himself and savoring the taste of menthol tinged nicotine as it burnt sharply at his tongue. He exhaled quickly in a gust of blue grey smoke, stepping backwards as the door to Kenny's trailer swung open.

"Carol," he inclined his head respectfully as the small gray haired woman trod cautiously down the rickety steps.

Carol glanced at him, biting at her lip, one hand holding onto the door frame. She had the odd startled look of a rabbit caught and trapped in the glow of headlights, and he didn't know why-but he felt inclined to step closer, wanting to reach out and reassure her, wanting to reassure himself that he wasn't quite so alone, but wanting the truth from her more- even though she shrunk back away from him.

_Tell me the truth, __mujer pequeña__.__Speak to me. __Why did your group abandon you? __Are you from the prison?_ _D__id__ you belong to__ Ricks group? _He found himself wanting to question, but instead his tongue twisted on itself and found other words. "How are you settling in?" he asked. "Is everything to your comfort?"

"I'm sorry. I've been so busy the last few hours in camp, that I haven't had much of a chance to thank you, any of you," she shrugged, edging away from him. She looked up and smiled, and Caesar was struck by the vivid flash of the blues of her eyes. "For taking me in, and making me feel welcome here. You, and Sandy, Tara, Lilly and Alisha. The others in the camp. I can't thank any of you enough."

"It ain't no problem," he replied, raising the cigarette to his mouth and inhaling deeply. He watched her carefully through a plume of smoke, Blake's reaction still fresh in his mind, warning him. "If there was something...I don't know? Amiss, something wrong in the camp, you would tell me, no? This is my camp, and if something isn't right-"

She glanced away from him, shrugging again as her hands fidgeted at her waist. Martinez wasn't dumb. His mother hadn't brought him up to be a fool. She was subconsciously searching out her weapons. The ones that he still had.

"I don't know what you mean," she smiled, even though it didn't reach her eyes. She regarded him coolly, "Everything's fine."

"I'm just asking," he smiled back. _You say one thing dama, and yet your actions speak of another. _An uncomfortable silence stretched out between them, and Caesar was suddenly unsure how to respond. He wanted her to talk so he could judge her reactions. He wanted to know the truth. If he could trust her.

"You shouldn't do that," she said quietly, a small wry, wary smile starting to push hesitantly at her lips. Her forehead crinkled in sudden amusement as she watched him.

He paused, the cigarette half way to his mouth. "Shouldn't do what?"

"Smoke. It isn't good for your health. It will kill you one day."

Caesar chuckled, "Lady, if it ain't one thing that's gonna kill me, it'll be another. We're all gonna die soon enough. Why make life any harder on myself, eh?"

"You remind me of someone I once knew," she smiled again, briefly, glancing down at her feet. "He always said if he was going to die, he may as well go out with a cigarette in his mouth."

"Wise words, senora. I almost approve of this man you speak of," he joked.

"Maybe." She turned her gaze from him, listening intently, and frowning.

"What is it?"

"Music?" she asked curiously. "It's been a while since I last heard that. Sounds like you've got a party-"

"Ah, hell," he spat, dropping the cigarette to the ground where it spluttered and died in the tramped down grass. "It ain't nothing but a few of the guys winding down after their shifts. But I've told them before, they need to keep it nice and quiet. Dial it down a notch or two, you get me?"

"Whatever, it really isn't my problem."

"It will be if the biters hear," he said. "You shouldn't be this close to the edge of camp on your own. Walk with me."

She shrugged stiffly again, as if his question wasn't quite the question it appeared to be, but more of a demand. And if Caesar was honest with himself, he wasn't exactly asking out of politeness. He didn't need anyone skittish and drawing unnecessary attention at the edge of camp. Didn't need anyone attracting any of the biters.

And more than that—Caesar didn't want Blake coming across her when she was out there alone. He feared what could happen if he _wasn't_ there to prevent it. He knew exactly what the Governor was capable of, had seen it many times before.

He nodded curtly at her, before heading off towards the center of the camp, the smaller woman hurriedly keeping pace with him.

…

The rain had eased up as they stepped into the central part of the camp. It was nothing more than a small space amongst the litter of RV's and trailers—at the edges; lines of laundered clothing swayed damply in the breeze. The area was lit by more of the barrels, flames licking out, casting everything in a warm orange glow. The sounds of merriment reached them, and as Carol looked, she could see at least half of the camp sat around a few of the makeshift picnic tables; discarded opened cans of food, bottles of beer and paper plates strewn across the weathered dirty table tops. She narrowed her eyes as she spied a lone black handled pocket knife laying half hidden among the debris, and glanced away quickly.

Tara was giggling as Alisha danced and swayed to the rhythmic beat of an up-tempo pop song that came from a stereo rigged up to a car battery, a furious blush coloring her cheeks. Her sister, Lilly, dug her in the ribs and Tara covered her mouth with her hand, all the while her dark wide eyes never leaving the curly brown haired woman as she danced with a young muscular Asian guy wearing a bandana around his neck. Sandy was sat to one side, trying to decline an invitation to dance with a tall lanky brown haired man, and as Carol looked at him, she felt her blood suddenly freeze and run to ice in her veins.

_Scott_.

If he'd seen, or recognized her-he didn't acknowledge it. Carol watched in alarm as Scott tugged at Sandys arm, his familiar smirk twisting quickly into a petulant sneer. He muttered angrily to her, and Sandy twisted away from him in her seat, swatting and shoving at him with her hands. He glared at her, before striding away across the camp, the shadows consuming him.

Carol turned her gaze from them, swallowing quickly as she watched the Hispanic make his way over to the throng of people, gesturing wildly with his hands. She looked away, half listening as he quietly berated the others, the sound of the music suddenly lowering, the obvious sullen displeasure of the others rippling throughout the camp.

She stared at the knife left abandoned on the table top, and glanced quickly at the others stood around Caesar as he issued out his orders. She slipped quietly across to the table, fidgeting a moment with a discarded paper plate, before placing it over the knife. Looking around once more, she quickly palmed the knife, her fingers curling around the blunt edge of the handle, tucking it up into the depths of her sleeve. She stepped back guiltily, feeling strangely relieved that she now finally had a weapon that was far better than the flat headed screw-driver tucked into her boot.

She glanced in the direction that Scott had taken. He was a threat-one that she would have to eliminate, if she could. Scott could jeopardize everything. She suddenly felt stupidly vulnerable and ashamed, despite the concealed knife. Merle would've chastised her loudly if he was here. _But he __damn well __wasn't._ Tears smarted at her eyes at the thought of him and Daryl-knowing that she'd screwed up and was never going to see either of them again. That she would never see the prison, or any of her extended family. That they were all lost to her, just like her girls. Lizzie and sweet, naive little Mika.

Ricks words flooded back, cruelly taunting. The last words he'd said before he'd left her. He'd even deprived her of her girls; of the one last final chance to be with them, to say goodbye.

"_If you think I'm going anywhere without Lizzie and Mika-"_

"_You want them to leave...to got out there with you? Lizzie is sick, and Mika is ten years old."_

"_Please, you can't..."_

"_We'll keep them safe. You're not that woman who was scared to be alone, not any more. You're going to start over, find others-people who don't know and you're going to survive out there. You will."_

She sighed tearfully. Rick was wrong. He was _wrong_ about every damn thing. How he'd treated her, and then cast her aside after the way she'd loved and cared about the kids, _her_ girls and _his_ children. Lizzie and Mika, Carl and Judith. How Rick hadn't had been prepared to listen to what she'd had to say, how he'd automatically misjudged her after every single thing that they'd been through—like he wrongly misjudged everyone else and every situation that arose. How Rick had treated Merle right from the start- like the man was nothing but expendable—as if Merle didn't matter to no-one, not even to his own brother. Never mind the consequences of what Ricks impetuous actions always brought. It didn't seem to matter what Daryl had done for them all. What Daryl had _always_ unselfishly done for them all. When it came down to Merle...when it came down to Daryl's _own_ flesh and blood, Rick was blinkered. And Rick...well, Rick didn't seem to care about any of it.

Caesar seemed restless and ill at ease as he came back across to where she stood, and she looked at him in wary surprise, crossing her arms over her chest and taking some small comfort from the bulk of the knife stashed safely away in her sleeve.

"Hey. Hey, you okay?" He asked, his brow creasing in surprise and sudden concern.

Carol sniffled in embarrassment, "I'm sorry, I'm fine. All of this? Seeing everyone together here brought it home a little. I guess I'm just missing my old group more than I thought I would," she said, trying to reassure him. "I don't want to cause any fuss. Really, I'm fine."

"Why did they leave you?" Caesar queried softly. "Your people? They must've been pretty careless to do such a thing. I've never left anyone behind."

"Not everyone is like you then, Caesar," she replied tightly. "Some people don't think twice before throwing others to the..." she fumbled for words, pausing and glancing away from him, frowning. "It was all my fault anyway. I was stupid. But none of that matters any more. It's gone. It's the past, and what good comes from bringing any of that up? It doesn't achieve anything."

"I guess that's a fair point," he agreed. "But you have to forgive me for my curiosity. You haven't spoken much about-"

Carol sighed, knowing that Caesar wasn't going to let it go until he had some sort of story. "Our old camp, the first camp that we made, got overrun with walkers one night. We fled, but we lost so many good people along the way. After that, we moved from place to place, trying to find somewhere safe. I suppose at the end of it all, there's no such thing. The risks, the dangers? They're everywhere. It never stops, it never ends."

Caesar looked at her shrewdly, his dark brown eyes unreadable in the dim light. "I don't believe you're telling me...the full story. Try again, dama. And this time, the truth."

She looked at him sharply. "I don't know you. Hell, I don't know anyone in this camp. I'm sorry if you don't believe-"

"I never said I don't believe you, but you ain't telling me the full story," Caesar insisted.

She shook her head, unable to meet the strange earnest demand that blazed in his dark eyes. Instead she glanced away from him and looked across the camp. Tara was talking in hushed tones to Sandy, Lilly had disappeared. Carol sighed again, to herself. Nothing was easy. But then again, it never had been. She felt a pang strike her acutely, and she wondered where Merle was, and if he was even missing her half as much as she was longing for him.

"Caesar, please...just...just stop. Stop this. There's nothing left to say," she said shrugged. "I told you what happened. I got left behind, separated from my group, the people I'd been traveling with. Our camp...we got overrun with those monsters, those...those walkers – it happens."

"Walkers," Caesar repeated, his forehead wrinkling thoughtfully.

"It's just a name," she said quickly. "Nothing more. Walkers, roamers, geeks-it all means the same damn thing."

"Just a name? That ain't nothing I come across before. Not since -" he paused.

"Not since, when?"

"Verlin's," he said, watching her reaction carefully. "The meeting at the grain store—the one that Andrea arranged." He knew he was taking a huge gamble, but he now felt he had no other choice, and he refused to back down. He _had_ to know-even if it meant taking a risk and laying all of his cards on the table. One of them _had_ to back down. Gain a little trust. It wasn't like he had so much to lose any more, anyway. Things were already starting to spiral out of his control.

Carol didn't answer, just stared blankly past him, and Caesar fought against the rising dread that he'd totally misjudged and misread the situation. For a long while he wondered if she would even answer.

"So. You...you were there?" she said eventually, the words spoken so quietly, that he almost didn't hear.

He stifled back a small sigh of relief. "Yeah. Yeah, I was."

"Then you...you met with Rick? With Daryl?"

"Daryl?" he asked, watching as she gave a small nod of affirmation. "You're meaning the hick with the crossbow? Yeah, I met with him. We shared a few smokes, chewed the fat a while. Hell, I almost liked the man."

"Caesar," she warned softly.

"Hey, you need to listen to me. It might seem wrong to you, but you ain't got no reason to distrust me. I see how this might come across, but I ain't lying. I need you to-"

"You..._you_ were one of _his_ men?" she stared at him in disbelief. "Why... why should I believe anything you have to damn well say?"

Martinez sighed tiredly, "Why?" he shook his head as he glanced around the camp. "Because this camp? It was my one last chance to turn things 'round. Make things right after everything that went down. I had this stupid idea that I could start again. But hell, now Pete's gone, and shit rolls downhill. I swear...I swear I'm next," he said softly. "You wanna lay blame for all this? Then lay it on me. This? It's my fault-I saw him...Blake there with that little girl and those women, and I thought he'd changed. I should've seen through it, but I didn't want to. It ain't ever been right, I know it now. He's gonna take this camp, and you and me? We ain't gonna be safe here no more. He'll want us gone, and worse, a lot worse. You _gotta_ start trusting me, Carol."

"Trust you? Why the hell would I do that?" she said pacing away from him, wringing her hands together.

"You have to. Look...I've gotta get you away from here, keep you safe," he paused, as she looked at him wide eyed in confusion. "_He_ _knows_ you're from the prison, dama. As long as you're with me...I'll do what I can. I just need you trust me. To start trusting me."

"I don't know...what do you want from me?" she started, stopping when she saw Blake and Diego burst their way through the camp.

Brian took a long sweeping glance across the camp, his cold one-eyed gaze taking in the muted music, the few people still dancing in the clearing. His gaze swept past them, settling on her for what seemed a moment, and she shrunk back from his piercing look. His gaze then swept past her to rest angrily on the Hispanic.

"What the hell kind of camp do you think you're running here, Martinez?" Blake demanded, striding across the camp and wrenching the radio-seizing it and angrily thrusting it at Martinez's chest.

Caesar staggered under the sudden blow, stumbling backwards a few paces, the radio tumbling from his grip and falling to the ground. He stared at it for a moment, blinking rapidly, before raising his head to stare back at Blake in confusion. "Hey, hey man, cool it down! There ain't no need-"

"There's every damn need! You and this foolishness are gonna attract every goddamn biter out there for miles!"

Carol stepped back, wanting to separate herself from the two men. Diego watched her curiously. She ignored him as she stepped further into the darkness of the shelter of the RV's. She felt the comforting bulk of the knife in her sleeve, the handle warm against her skin. She glanced once more at the men, half listening to Caesars protests as she slipped further into the shadows, taking advantage of the situation as the two men angrily advanced on the Hispanic.

"Hey, it ain't no big deal, man. The guys needed to blow off a little steam," Caesar said, stepping backwards. "Didn't think it was such an issue-"

"That's always been your problem, Martinez. You don't think."

"What do you know, Brian," Caesar retorted angrily. "I would've left you. If it hadn't been for that little girl. For the people with you, back there, then? I wouldn't have brought you back to the camp. If it was just you? I would've left your ass in that pit."

Blake smiled slowly. "But you didn't, did you?"

"Aunt Tara. Aunt Tara!"

A high pitched girlish scream split the air, and Carol watched from the shadows as Tara stumbled in alarm, her feet nearly tripping her up, her mouth gaping open. "Meghan? Oh God!"

Blake turned quickly, "No," he mouthed as he sped on his heel, shoving his way past Tara. "This isn't happening. Not again."

Carol followed quickly on the heels of Caesar, stopping as she saw the young girl flat on her back, the walker in the darkness reaching out and clawing at the young girls legs. Tara was on her knees, her hand grasped about the walkers ankles, the flesh flaying in her grasp until she was left with nothing but rotten pulp clasped in her hands.

There was a loud resounding boom that echoed through the silence. Blake stood angry and defiantly, his pistol cocked. The walker had fallen to the side, one hand still clasping the young girls ankle.

"I tried, oh God," Tara sobbed. "Meghan..."

Blake stooped down, "Are you...are you alright pumpkin?" The young girl gaped at him in fear, her eyes wide and brimming with tears. "Brian?" she sobbed as he knelt on the ground and scooped her up. He stood slowly, the girl clasped tightly to him, her long auburn hair draping across his chest and catching in the stubble on his chin. "I won't let anything happen to you ever," he soothed in a low voice. "I gotcha pumpkin."

"Promise me Brian?" Meghan sobbed tearfully. "Pinky promise? Don't leave me-"

"Cross my heart. Forever," Blake intoned, his gaze drifting towards Caesar. "I asked you one thing. One simple thing. And you know what that was. I asked if you could keep this place safe."

"I told you, man," Caesar shook his head. "I told you I'd do what I could. I'd try. That we'd be prepared for whatever-"

"Oh God! Meghan! Is she alright?" Lilly sobbed as she raced towards Brian. "She's not hurt, not bitten, please?"

"Lilly, I'm sorry," Tara mumbled, glancing down at the biter gunk smeared over her palms. She wiped her hands across her thighs distastefully.

Lilly dropped to her knees in front of the young girl, clasping her tightly, her hands shaking as she smoothed them over her daughters long hair. "I'm here," she soothed, her voice breaking with emotion. She looked up at Brian over Meghans shoulder. "How could this have happened? I thought...I thought this camp was safe from those things?"

"You're right, it should've been safe, but it wasn't. I'll fix this. Go on back to our trailer, take Meghan. I won't be long." Blake said, his gaze drifting past the Chamblers, to the small throng of stunned and shocked people assembling silently in the small clearing. "As you might be aware, we've had an incident with a biter that shouldn't have happened. But it's been dealt with."

"Wouldn't have happened if Martinez had done what he was told and checked 'em fucking perimeters," Connor called out angrily. "I told him. Christ, this shit was just beggin' to happen!"

A few of the camp murmured in agreement, and Caesar glanced at them, shaking his head in defeat. "None of you...you ain't giving me a chance to explain..."

"Explain what?" Blake stood rigidly, the anger almost bubbling off him. "You might as well have gone and let that biter in yourself. You need to make this right, do a sweep of the camp, put your own people at ease. Don't mess up this time, Martinez."

"Alright," Caesar shrugged wearily. He couldn't bring himself to look at the disgusted looks from the others, and he felt self conscious that they were all watching him with unexpected hostility. "Alright, I'll do what I gotta do," he said, ignoring the hissed comments and whispered insults as he stepped back and away from the others.

"Shows over people," Blake called out. "Go on back to your trailers, sleep, rest up. Tomorrow's a new day."

Mumbled protests greeted him as the small throng of people made their way restlessly back across the camp. Blake cast his eye over to where Diego stood with his semi automatic rifle resting against his shoulder. He glanced past him into the shadows, Diego following his gaze. "Get Mitch. Follow Martinez, watch him," Blake said thoughtfully. "Find out what he knows about that woman from the prison. Do what you have to do, but find out. And then in the morning? Take him to the pits, you'll know what to do. Make it clean, but make him gone."

"I got this. He ain't gonna be any problem," Diego murmured.

Blake stared at him for a moment before nodding in agreement. "I've got to go. I need to check on Meghan and Lily. Do this Diego, and don't screw up, or you'll be facing the pits, along with Martinez."

Diego paled despite his tan. "Ain't gonna be a problem," he repeated quietly, although he was unsure if he was trying to reassure himself, or just following orders.

…

Golf balls. Fucking golf balls.

At least four of the small off white pitted balls lay in the thick grass at the edge of the perimeter. Caesar would have missed them if he hadn't had trodden on one in mistake. The guards were nowhere in sight.

_¿Qué diablos?_ Martinez mused to himself as he patrolled the south eastern edges of the perimeters. The guards were gone from their posts, and he thought that he'd find and berate them as soon as he found them. It was no wonder that the biter had broken its way through the camp. He knelt down, grasping one of the small white balls, turning it over in his hands, frowning at it. He had no answer to why the golf balls lay where they did, all he knew was that he wasn't the one that had put them there, and he was pretty much sure that he was the only one that knew that he used them.

_Qué mierda? _He mouthed silently to himself in confusion._¿pelotas de golf maldito de Dios?_

Martinez sighed as he made his way back to his trailer, rolling the golf ball in his hand as he walked. He was at a loss. He'd been keeping an eye out for Carol, trying to not make it obvious to anyone that might have looked. But she'd gone, as if she'd vanished and there was no sight or sign of her anywhere. He frowned to himself, fearing again what Blake would do if he found her.

He swung the door open to his trailer and stepped inside, narrowing his eyes in the deep gloom. A small red glow several feet away caught his eye, the sudden waft of cigarette smoke strong inside the confines of his trailer. The small red glowing ember flared briefly, then moved. He paused, unsure who was there when he heard the slight scuffle of feet close behind him, the sudden and unmistakable bulk of a gun prodding at his side.

"Why?" he asked.

"It ain't nothing personal," Diego said in the darkness. "But you've gotta see, we've gone and got ourselves a little problem here-"

"Shut your mouth, Diego," Mitch grunted, the red glowing ember of the cigarette flaring brightly before fading, his boot nosily grinding it into the floor.

"Ah, fuck to it. Move your ass Martinez," Diego grunted, shoving at Caesar, jostling him on his feet, the gun never leaving his side.

"Whatever this is? You don't have to do this-"

"Don't?" Mitch laughed bitterly. "Hell Martinez, what the hell do you know?"

Caesar stumbled over his own feet as the other man pushed at him hard. "Why are you doing this? This is Blake, isn't it?" he spat. "You know nothing about him, but _I_ do. And you're gonna trust him, over me? Hell, whatever he's said, man, don't believe it. I kept this camp safe. Me, alone. You know I did."

"Shit man, don't take this personally, but its survival. Yeah... okay, you kept us safe this far, I'll grant you that, but you've lost it man—I've seen you drinking all fucking day, shit...you ain't got the guts for this no more. And me, well fuck it, I happen to like my skin in one piece. You almost let that lil girl die, and why? Cause you've gone soft and you don't give a shit no more. Brian...hell man, that guy _does_. He cares what happens. He _wants_ to keep this camp safe."

"You're just like my brother," Mitch said quietly, regret tingeing his voice. "Pete always was too loyal. I told him about it. Hell, I w_arned him _but he wouldn't listen_. _He was always too loyal to bounce. _Too_ _fucking_ _loyal_. He cost us...and hell Martinez, you're just like him. Old one eye's right. Sometimes we gotta do one or two bad little things...for the greater good. Hell, even Diego's right. You've gone soft. Too soft. Just like my brother."

"You _can't_ trust him," Martinez insisted. "You're making a big mistake. You don't know him, not any of you. Just let me go, amigo."

"I ain't your friend," Diego spat.

Mitch pushed himself to his feet, "We gotta ask you a few things. It'd be in your better interests if you answered. Don't shit us Martinez," he warned.

"We're wasting time with this Mitch," Diego whined. "Lets just do what we gotta, leave this crap 'til the morning, huh, just like Bri said?" He looked at Caesar and smirked. "It ain't like this ass-hole got much say in the matter, and hell I'm tired, and I wanna get some shut eye." He brought his firearm up quickly, smacking it abruptly and viciously against the side of Caesars head.

"Shit!" Mitch grunted in surprise as the other man slumped suddenly, his head lolling to the side. He stepped back, watching in the dim light as the body thudded to the ground; a small lone golf ball falling and rolling out of Caesars limp hand.

Diego prodded the prone form with the toe of his boot, "You ain't nothing but a dead man walking, _amigo._"

…

As soon as Blake had entered the camp, Carol had made herself disappear, not wishing to bring any more attention to herself, and especially by him. She slipped through the shadows, through the haphazard corridors of darkened vehicles towards the edge of the camp where her trailer was, the small flick knife slipping into her palm, its presence in her hand reassuring. She held her breath, willing herself to be calm as she pressed the little button on the side of the knife, her breath stilling as the knifes edge swung neatly open. She glanced briefly at the bright blade, pressing herself to the side of an empty RV, pausing for a moment, staring into the thick shadows. She thought she could see a small flash of movement and she waited a few more precious seconds, before edging further into the shadows.

Scott was stood at the perimeter, unaware that he was being observed, and she felt a familiar pang of anger, doubt and self loathing at his presence. She'd watched him as he'd disappeared into the shadows, and she had been seized by uncertainty. She'd wanted to warn him to back off, to leave Sandy alone. She'd seen exactly how he'd reacted to the other woman, how he'd been pushing himself on her. Ed had done similar so many times and she hated to see any other woman go through the same damn things that she'd had to deal with in the past. She knew all to well how it felt. What could...and would happen.

"Do you think I'm stupid?" Scott said softly to himself. "That I didn't know you were there. I knew. I've known all along."

Carol crept closer towards him, stopping and stiffening in the shadows at the sound of his voice, her eyes fixed rigidly on his back. She didn't bother answering him. Instead she stared at the knife in her hand, the doubts filling her. She wasn't a cold hearted killer. She couldn't kill in cold blood, no matter what had happened back at the prison with Karen and David.

"You really think you've got me, that you understand, that you know me?" he said softly, staring at the long dense tree lines."But you're wrong, just like everyone else." He moved quickly towards her, his hand suddenly snaking out and grasping her arm, wrestling and twisting the knife from her grasp, the blade falling to the ground, the sound muffled in the tramped down wet grass. "Wow man, just take a fucking look at this!" he laughed brightly. "You're mine now, you little bitch, and there ain't nothing you can do about it."

She struggled against him, but he wrapped his arm tightly around her, pressing her firmly to his chest. "Where's your pathetic hick bodyguard now, huh?" he breathed, his face close to her neck, his breath warm and cloying, smelling sourly of alcohol.

"Let me go, Scott," she warned as she struggled against him, even though it was useless. Her arms were trapped and pinned at her sides.

"Man, I've had enough of this," Scott grimaced, raising his revolver and smacking it squarely across her temple. "You know, I always preferred a woman that weren't so willing. Don't blame me, it's how it is."

She tried to focus on him, even as her body sagged. The last thing she saw, before the darkness enveloped her, was his small twisted smile.

…


End file.
